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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763599">Beautiful Disaster</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/glam_reaper2/pseuds/glam_reaper2'>glam_reaper2</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Healing, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, M/M, Recovery, Rehabilitation, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Suicide Attempt, This will have dark parts but i promise it's going to end EXTREMELY domestic fluff, like super slow burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:09:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,344</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763599</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/glam_reaper2/pseuds/glam_reaper2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In this AU we deal with soulmates. Those without one at all, or those who haven’t found theirs, see the world in shades of grey. They learn the basics of color through reading in school, knowing that it exists (I.e. the sky is blue, grass is green). However, they won’t see color ever until the first time their skin touches that of their soulmate. References to shadows and grey scale refer to this concept. </p><p>Adam and Ronan are disasters. Together they will make something truly beautiful.</p><p>*********************</p><p>TW: E rating now refers to the content dealing with self harm right off the bat. E rating also for sexual content in later chapters. </p><p>This is my 1st pynch fic y'all</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>191</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: And so it begins..</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First of all I want to re-iterate my TW for a suicide attempt at the beginning. It features blood and trauma. *****</p><p> </p><p>That being said I wanted to state a few things before you begin reading. I am in no way glorifying or attempting to glorify suicide/ suicide attempts. As a survivor of such attempts, I know how dangerous people portraying the act as this "escape" can be. This work for me is as much a therapeutic write as it is something I just wanted to try. I haven't written a Pynch fic before, but they are truly my OTP. </p><p>This story begins dark, but I assure you that this story ends with healing and love and happiness. </p><p>If you wish to skip over the graphic pieces you can skip the prologue entirely. </p><p>I love you all: those still struggling, those in recovery, those just doing the damn thing. </p><p>-Kenzi</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> He was drowning in an ocean of grey and shadow; ceaselessly borne back beneath the waves of obscurity*. He was untethered, listless, completely unmade. Ronan Lynch heard the void calling, louder with each labored breath his lungs fought to take against his will. The drumming in his ears growing more faint, as the beats themselves danced from his withered shell; spilling out around him in a cacophony of wasted life. The lights above him were swallowed by darkness, the bite of the autumn air matching the cold in his bones. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>His last coherent thought, a desperate plea to a silent God: I’m ready. Please. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And then he was nothing at all.</em>
</p>
<p>_____________________________</p>
<p>The night was unassuming, in the way that most were in Adam Parrish’s life. Autumn wind ripping through the holes in his winter coat, he tightened the scarf he wore around his neck, hauled up the messenger bag on his shoulder, and trudged on. The route from the library to Boyd’s took him past college bars with their endless lines of students looking to waste their parent’s money in the guise of letting loose. A million shades of grey, and yet their wealth was still evident, their greys cut from a finer cloth. He rounded the corner of the final bar, and made towards the industrial side of town, glancing down each alley, always on high alert. Always waiting for his father to step from the shadows. He shuddered, and glanced behind him again. He knew it was irrational, the man would never leave Henrietta, and yet he could never shake the fear that one day he would come back to finish the job.</p>
<p>5 minutes from Boyd’s, he heard a scream from the alley a hundred yards away. A noise, unlike any other he had heard in his life. “Help me, somebody, please!” the voice tore through the night air ahead of him. Pleading. </p>
<p>He didn’t think, he just ran.</p>
<p>There was a head of light hair, the boy it was attached to shaking and still screaming for help. Adam’s eyes snapped down to what he held in his arms, and felt time come to a screeching halt. The fair haired man was cradling the wrists of another man, applying pressure as dark liquid poured through his fingers and onto the pavement, soaking his knees. The shock lasted but a moment, before Adam unwound his scarf and made to wrap it around one of the wrists; a makeshift tourniquet.</p>
<p>“It’s going to be okay” he spoke in what he hoped was a soothing voice, though he knew it sounded hollow. “Give me one of his arms, I’m going to wrap this around. I need you to call 911. I won’t go anywhere. Keep pressure on the other wrist.”</p>
<p>The fair haired boy looked at him, eyes blank, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. Adam reached for the closest arm. His fingers had barely brushed the dying boy’s arm when a light flashed behind his eyes, and for a second time in as many minutes, Adam felt time stop. </p>
<p>He clamped his eyes shut as hard as he could, while blindly fumbling to wrap his scarf around the shape of the wrist in front of him. He thought he was going to vomit. This couldn’t be happening. Something was wrong.</p>
<p>He maintained pressure.</p>
<p>He heard the fair haired boy on the phone.</p>
<p>He counted his breaths.</p>
<p>He opened his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He saw, <em>red…</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew it was “red” because everyone knew the color of blood, though not everyone would see it in their lifetime. Everything was red now. His hands, the pavement, the legs of his pants from where he’d knelt in a growing puddle. He tried to control his breathing, he maintained pressure, and as the sounds of the ambulance grew closer he finally looked down at the body.</p>
<p>He knew what this meant, and the very idea of it made him numb.</p>
<p>
  <em>Soulmate.</em>
</p>
<p>Pale skin, buzzed black hair, ice blue eyes staring at nothing. </p>
<p>Red… Red... Red. </p>
<p>He watched helplessly as the man’s shallow breaths grew even more faint. He counted each one until he was pulled from the man by paramedics, whisking the body away in an ambulance. </p>
<p>He still hadn’t spoken.</p>
<p>He vaguely registered the blonde boy being helped into his own ambulance. Blue eyes wide like saucers, a river still pouring down his face. They stared at one another through a sea first-responders, and the boy nodded his head once in thanks.</p>
<p>Adam simply picked up his formerly discarded messenger bag, and slipped into the shadows before the police could question him. His body was ice; drenched blood. The wind tore at him relentlessly once more as he headed towards Boyd’s. He didn’t want to think about whether or not his soulmate would survive, it was futile, there was too much blood. He didn’t want to think about the scream that had brought him to that alley in the first place. He didn’t want to see the color red ever again. He wanted a shower, a change of clothes, and to fall asleep without seeing those unblinking glacial eyes every time he closed his own. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*line inspired by F. Scott Fitzgerald. *</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. You gotta get busy living or get busy dying</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Who the fuck touched me?" aka here comes some plot doo-doo-doo-dooooo</p>
<p>Chapter title from "Noah" by Amber Run</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His phone had not stopped its incessant rhythm atop his nightstand. Adam was staring blankly at it. ringing... ringing, and then flashing: BLUE (missed call). She’d been trying to reach him for two days and he had yet to move from his bed for more than a quick trip to the bathroom. He’d shot a text to Boyd telling him he had a family emergency, skipped classes, and stood vigil alone in a sea of blankets. </p>
<p>Grieving. </p>
<p>His heart ripped from his chest by a man he’d never learn to love. His happy ending. Every color he’d dreamt of seeing, swallowed him whole. How was the world outside so bright? Who gave it the right to be so radiant, when hope had bleed out on the concrete in a back alley.</p>
<p>He closed his eyes, and let the dark drag him back.</p>
<p>The sound of a key turning the lock of his front door woke him. He knew it would be Blue, his best friend of four years, the only person other than his landlord who had access. He burrowed further into the covers and stared blankly at his bedroom door, waiting for the inevitable. </p>
<p>“WHERE HAVE YOU BEE- oh…. Adam.” What had begun at a yell, drifted to a near whisper when her eyes found his. They were big, and the richest brown, Adam would have been lost in the color if he had the strength to feel. </p>
<p>“Adam, what happened?” She whispered, coming to perch at his side, delicate hand reaching to touch his cheek.</p>
<p>“He’s dead Blue. He died. I- I couldn’t, I- “</p>
<p>“Shhh, it’s okay. Who Adam, what happened? Who died?”</p>
<p>
  <em>My heart died.</em>
</p>
<p>His eyes shifted to her left hand which was firmly gripping his. “Your nails don’t match Blue, they’re all different.”</p>
<p>“My wha- <em>oh</em>… OH GOD. ADAM! You found them? When did this happen? This is amazing! No, no don’t cry, fuck…Sweetheart.. what happened?”</p>
<p>He looked up then, her face a mask of concern as she wiped the tears falling from his eyes in splashing drops. </p>
<p>“I… I was going to Boyd’s. There was screaming. There was so much blood Blue, it- it was everywhere. I tried to help, I- I couldn’t stop the blood. And then everything was bright and it was so red. Everything was so red. And warm. And cold. And I couldn’t sto-stop it. I-“ he choked on a series of sobs that wracked his whole being. He couldn’t find it in himself to stop. Blue kicked off her green boots and crawled into the covers, holding him tight to her chest as he cried. </p>
<p>For hours she said nothing, allowing him the comfort of touch, and the space to grieve. He was completely broken, and she held the shattered pieces of his soul so tight, as if she could glue him back together with force alone. </p>
<p>At some point he had fallen asleep, and when he woke Blue brought him water. He mustered the courage to tell her what had happened in the alley, tears flowing down both their faces when he finally made it through. </p>
<p>“I don’t,” he released a shuttered breath, and tried again. “I don’t know what to do now Blue… there’s nothing, no happy ending. It’s… everything I’ve done.. I’m alone. I’m alone, again.”</p>
<p>“No. You’re not alone. You have me.” She stated, fact. “You have Henry. You have grad school and a future, and you’re going to change the world. This? This is horrific, but this is not the end for you. I promise.”</p>
<p>She was earnest in the way that only Blue could be. He heard the words, and wished they were true, but this felt like the end. </p>
<p>“I…. I never even knew his name. How can I- how- I can’t even <em>grieve</em> Blue. I don’t know who I lost,” Adam whispered.</p>
<p>“Your heart knows, love, that’s enough.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*************************************************************************************</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyes were heavy. His body felt like it was weighed down by sandbags, and his throat was on fire. He stirred slightly, trying to open his eyes, to lift his head. Water he thought, but the word never fell from his lips. </p>
<p>He heard the muffled sound of a chair scrape back, and suddenly there was a cup being pressed to his lips. A warm hand holding his head steady, allowing the liquid to coat his ravaged throat. </p>
<p>Ronan felt like death. Which was funny to him because, had he actually been dead, he imagined he’d feel a lot better. He choked on the cold, and the cup was removed. The telltale click of it being set somewhere off to the side, though the hand never left his face.</p>
<p>“Ronan…” <em>Gansey.</em> His voice was hollow, and the name on his lips was like a whispered question. </p>
<p>“Mmm,” he hummed a non-committal sound, and tried again to peel his eyes open. He was met with bright light, and squinted, the blurry face of his friend slowly coming into focus before him when his breath caught.</p>
<p>“Dick,” he croaked. “Your eyes…” He still couldn’t breath. The world narrowed down to two pools of light-brown, rimmed pink, and set above purple shadows.</p>
<p>“What? Ronan, what’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“Fuck.. your- they’re- <em>brown…</em>” He trailed off, and felt Gansey stiffen from his perch at Ronan’s side.</p>
<p>“<em>....What?</em>” Gansey spoke, nearly inaudible. </p>
<p>“I said they’re brown, Dick. THEY ARE FUCKING BROWN!” his scream was met with a surge of noise from the machine to his right, and that’s when he realized he didn’t know where he was. </p>
<p>The world around Gansey’s eyes flew into focus, and he found himself in a hospital room. White walls, scratchy sheets, yellow lights.</p>
<p>He hated hospitals. </p>
<p>“What the fuck happened? Who touched me Dick, WHO FUCKING TOUCHED ME?” He was hysterical. The beeping from the machine intensified with the beat of his heart. <em>I’m having a fucking heart attack.</em></p>
<p>Gansey was pulled back by a team in scrubs, they swarmed the bed and spoke quickly. He couldn’t breath normally, his chest to fucking tight. His wrists searing flame. His heart a staccato beat hammering his ribs. He was dizzy. </p>
<p>He was going to die. </p>
<p>
  <em>This is it.</em>
</p>
<p>Ronan felt the cool of a liquid being pushed through the IV in his hand, and as sleep came to claim him once more, he heard himself say “Who touched me..” then it was only a dream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He woke again, minutes, hours, days later, to the sound of hushed voices. This time, he stayed still. He didn’t want to be awake. He didn’t want to be here.</p>
<p>“- I asked Noah,” Gansey said.</p>
<p>“And?” Declan. <em>Fuck.</em></p>
<p>“And, he doesn’t know.. He never got a name.”</p>
<p>“We’re sure it wasn’t one of the paramedics?” Matthew. <em>Shit.</em> Ronan wished his little brother wasn’t here to see him like this.</p>
<p>“I asked everyone on the scene, even the cops present just to make sure. It had to be the- Hey, Ronan. How are you feeling?” Gansey’s whisper morphed into the “Senator’s son” voice easily as his eyes found Ronan awake, and watching the group meeting in the corner.</p>
<p>“Fucking fantstic Dick.” He croaked, then swallowed hard, fighting the bile rising in his throat. <em>They don’t know his name. He didn’t want me. He left m-</em> Ronan smothered the thought in a blanket of self-hatred. <em>Of course he didn’t want this, who would?</em> </p>
<p>The bed sank next to him and he turned to see Mathew’s beautiful head of curls softly lit in the low light of the room. “Hey buddy.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Mathew’s bottom lip quivered, and silver lined his ice blue eyes. “I, we, should have- I’m..” the sentence ended in a sob, and his head fell against Ronan’s chest. </p>
<p>“Shhh, shh, shh.. Matty it’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong, I promise. I love you, okay?” He brought a bandaged wrist up to rest lightly on Mathew’s back. Even the slight movement sent dizzying pain down his arm. Ronan met Declan’s hard gaze over the head of curls. He looked tired; wrinkled and unshaved. His eyes, like Gansey’s, were circled pink, but his jaw was set.<br/>
He was <em>pissed.</em> </p>
<p>He made his way to Matthew’s side and gently pried him from Ronan. </p>
<p>“Hey, do you think you and Gansey could go find us some real coffee? I can’t stand the vending machine anymore and I think we could all use some? Maybe you could even find Ronan some jello? I’m sure he’d love it.” Matthew dried his eyes, smiled, and nodded. Gansey moved to open the door, and Ronan saw Declan mouth thank you. Gansey’s head dipped subtly, and the door closed behind him with an echoed click. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Silence.</em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want to fucking hear it.” Ronan growled. </p>
<p>“Well that’s too fucking bad.” Declan spoke, tone hard. “What the hell were you thinking? <em>Christ Ronan-</em>“ </p>
<p>“It doesn’t fucking matter.”</p>
<p>“It matters a great deal actually. Do you know what it was like? I got a call from Gansey telling me that Noah found-“ he took a deep, shuttering, breath. “Found you, I.. I had to tell Mathew. How could you be so selfish?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry to disappoint.” Ronan turned his face away. “I’m still here, so you can fuck off back to hell anytime. I’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>“Oh <em>fuck you.</em>” Declan spat. “You don’t get to do this anymore.”</p>
<p>Ronan ignored him, rage boiling beneath his skin. He wanted to be left alone. He took a deep breath, in through his mouth, out, slowly through his nose. A smoker’s breath, and closed his eyes. </p>
<p>“This shit, whatever has gotten into you? I’m done, Ronan. You’re done.” Declan spoke frankly. “I’ve already called a rehab center in Arlington-“</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“-and seeing as you’re on a 72 hour hold as it is, they’re willing to take you in.” Declan continued as if Ronan had never spoken. “You’ll finish your <em>detox</em> there. Gansey has already sent over your clothes.”</p>
<p>“I said <em>no.</em>"
</p><p>" I will not allow you into Mathew’s life if you choose the latter, he won’t be made to watch you deteriorate any longer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan closed his burning eyes, once more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>“I’m sorry,</em>” Declan whispered. “I-we can’t do this anymore Ronan. You’re <em>breaking</em> us. We love you, but we won’t help you destroy yourself.”</p>
<p>Silent tears slipped from beneath his closed lashes, running tracks to the starched pillows below. </p>
<p>“I’m tired.”</p>
<p>Declan sighed, bringing his hand to squeeze Ronan’s once, lightly, before making his way through the door. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I’m sorry.</em>” Ronan whispered to Declan. To no one. To everyone. <em>To him.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The "Embarrassing-Melancholy-Feelings-Shitfest"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This chapter is the first of Ronan's recovery. I've made a playlist on spotify, aka I made "the playlist" mentioned in this.<br/>You don't have to listen to the whole thing, but I do rec that you at least check out the specific songs mentioned by the boys because it adds a whole dynamic to the feeling of the piece.</p>
<p>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4kEXOvCyfFwUkSpCPjtCLY</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As usual, shoutout to LiterallyLen for being there all hours of the day and night as I ping ideas off her. I wouldn't have had the confidence to publish any of this without her!</p>
<p>Thank you to everyone who has read/kudos/commented so far. Y'all, I'm fucking speechless tbh. This piece means so much to me and this chapter specifically is the piece of writing I'm most proud of so far &lt;3</p>
<p>It wont be angst forever, but it will be for a while. I'm sorry!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For Ronan Lynch the following days that week were a blur. Anger, loathing, and cravings in equal measure, hammering his mind and body like waves upon the shore. He was restless, more so than normal, as if the hours of drug induced sleep he had in hospital were all he was allotted. His insomnia was a creature, angered by his reprieve and back with a vengeance.</p>
<p>The only freedom from the endless nights living in fog, was music. Though Ronan would never share this fact with anyone -being known for his raucous electronic tastes- but he had a fondness for music of all genres. Declan had apparently convinced the illustrious Dr. Allen to allow him use of an old ipod loaded with his entire music library, and Airpods (because headphones were banned) to aid in “healing.” Loath as he was to admit it, he was grateful.</p>
<p>The brothers Lynch were raised in lyrics. Songs for sleep, for tradition, for quiet nights in, for time alone, for long drives and heartbreak. Aurora and Niall had a mix-CD (and later a playlist) for every hour of the day, it seemed. It was a habit bred into the boys, and though they never spoke of it, Ronan knew it was something they all still did. And so Declan had fought for him. Ronan was given the Ipod, charger, and Airpods on the morning of his fifth day, during his one-on-one session with Dr. Allen. They came in a small black box, with a letter attached.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Ronan, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I know that, as I write this, my words will more than likely fall upon deaf ears. Shatter on the rocks of our hostility and history, and yet… I hope. I hope that, with time you can come to understand a profound truth I have long since come to terms with, in relation to us. We two, know what it is to love a Lynch. The difficulty and pain our family brings to those around us under the guise of caring. We have also had the privilege to see the beauty in that specific brand of love. Mathew may be the best of us, a point not even you will argue, but you Ronan… </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You’re the soul of this family. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>From the day I first saw you, small and wild in Mom’s arms, I knew that you would change everything. I had never seen so much spirit, so much life. You came into the world with purpose, and it blew me away. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>We used to be inseparable, do you remember? Your laugh is the soundtrack to my greatest childhood memories, your smile the image that gives me strength to make a daring choice. I know, I know, me? Daring? You’re rolling your eyes right now, and that’s okay. My brand of daring has long since veered from your particular brand of stupid, but I swear to you that in my own way, I do still hold onto that. Your sharp smile in moments when I’m scared. So I thank you for that. I’m so sorry, Ronan. I’ve never been able to balance properly on the knifes-edge that is my life after our parents. I wish to try and explain my actions, and then maybe you can have some understanding as you begin to heal. I knew that you needed freedom to grieve, Matthew needed to be held, but you needed to run wild. I tried to be okay with that, but I failed because I was scared. You see, my greatest fear has always been losing one of you. Matthew stayed close-by, still so young, we all were, but he was still naive and so for him I needed to be a father. It seemed easier at the time to just take that approach universally, and the more it backfired, the more I pushed. I didn’t know how to grieve myself. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>My relationship with Dad was complicated at times, and when he was gone, it was like he took the air from the world. He stole you too. That’s how I felt. My heart, Matthew was broken. But my soul? He was just gone. I thought that structure would help, because I need to control things to feel okay. I needed you with me because I was scarcely able to breath. I realized too late that I was smothering you, and by that time the damage was done. I wish I could go back and give you what you needed. I was selfish with you, and I’m sorry. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m aware of where you currently are, and what I had to do to get you here, and therefore how this whole letter might seem like bullshit. Hell, you may not even read a single line, but I needed to do this. Ronan, I’m not going to fill this with platitudes about how you could do so much, you’ve heard my opinions on the matter. But I’ve realized there is something I’ve never told you in regards to my opinions on your life: I’m fucking proud of you. This situation we are currently in may be my nightmare; literally. I’ve had this nightmare, what almost happened, almost every night (that I could actually sleep) since Dad. But, that’s not what I’m talking about now. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You, Ronan. Your art. You’re incredible you know? I don’t think I’ve ever truly talked to you about this, and for that I take full responsibility. It’s come to my attention that you’ve always believed I thought you were wasting money and time on a degree that I “wouldn’t approve of.” And maybe, you even did it partially for spite. Which makes me laugh because, and here’s a secret: I always dreamed you would. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I see you, in every piece you create. Not just the ones you’ve chosen to share with me either. Yes, I will admit that I’ve snuck peeks at the art you hide in that closet at Monmouth. Fun fact, I am extremely useful with a lock pick. I’m not apologizing for that. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Everything you create is like air back in my lungs. It’s my soul on a canvas, the words I can’t seem to find for fear of drawing attention. And I’ve never seen them in color. I pray for that, did you know? At mass, I always take a moment to pray for my soulmate. Not because I want that connection, well not only. But because there is nothing I wouldn’t give in this world to see you create in all the colors I’ve only read of. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You have that chance now. Here, while you heal. Here while you find yourself again, you have that chance. We will find him Ronan. We will. I will tear D.C. down until I do. I’ll do that for you, but promise me you’ll try too. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I have arranged for not only access to this Ipod (I did push for a phone, but apparently that’s something even our money can’t buy from Allen) but for access to whatever materials you will need to be delivered to your room. The first delivery will arrive as soon as you provide Dr. Allen with a list of what you’d like. I can bring it personally, though I’ll understand if you’re not ready for that. But promise me you’ll create. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I love you. I know it’s not really something we say. It may not even be something you wish to hear now, or ever. And that’s fair. However, while I have the nerve now, I’m saying it. I love you, little brother. Always. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Declan. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>P.S. In keeping with Mom and Dad’s “official letter writing tradition” here’s a song for you. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Outnumbered- Dermot Kennedy. (I’ve already added it to the library.)</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The letter was an intimate and bottomless kindness from a brother he’d forgotten how to love properly. It broke his heart.</p>
<p>Ronan drew a shaking breath, and clamped his eyes together, willing tears away. He would not cry in front of Dr. Allen. He couldn’t. He folded it back up, sliding it underneath the contents of the box carefully and, gathering all the strength he had, made eye contact with the good doctor.</p>
<p>“So…” Dr. Allen began, “I don’t wish to drag out this session. While I don’t know what was written in that letter, I can judge based off of your current body language that you need some time. I respect that, so we’ll end today early.”</p>
<p>Ronan stood immediately, box in hand, he was halfway to the door before he heard Dr. Allen cleared his throat. He turned slowly, muscles taut, glare acidic, and stared down at Allen behind his desk. Dr. Allen stared back, the poster-child for neutrality. It only angered Ronan further, he didn’t have time for this. He was a damn about to burst, if he didn’t get the fuck out of this scholastic-shithole of an office he was going to break something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck. <em>What?</em>” he snarled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your homework.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ex-fucking-<em>scuse</em> me?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re leaving early, which I’ve condoned. But… I have homework for you. This is day 5 Mr. Lynch. We aren’t going to play the silent game for an hour each day and then let you hide away without something to work on. So here it is…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan seethed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t do homework,” he spat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ll do this. Or I’ll take that.” Dr. Allen motioned halfheartedly towards the box in Ronan’s hands. He reflexively brought it close to his chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Fine.</em>” He growled. He couldn’t lose this. He needed this. He nee-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A playlist, Mr. Lynch. That’s your homework. I understand your family has something of a tradition? Therefore, I’ve concluded that the first thing I wish for you to work on is a playlist. I will not ask to see which songs you have chosen, only that you make one. I want you to focus on what you feel, stuck here. And create. We’ll discuss more tomorrow. Have a nice day.” And with that, Dr. Allen closed the file in his hands, and turned to his computer. Ronan showed himself out, making sure to slam the office door with all the force he could muster. He winced when the muscles in his wrists strained.</p>
<p>And so, here he was. In the early hours of his 5th night interned in his “suite”, Ronan compiled a playlist. He spent hours searching through his library, pouring every fuckng <em>feeling</em> his therapist suggested he confront into the song selections. No one would ever be allowed access to what he was now calling the “Embarrassing- Melancholy- Feelings- Shitfest” or EMFS playlist. He even added Declan’s song. When he finished it, he put his Airpods in, laid down on his bed, closed his eyes, and pressed play.</p>
<p>As <em>Between the Bars</em> by Elliot Smith began, Ronan took his first deep breath in a week and finally allowed himself to cry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rest of the first week, and much of the second passed just as the first 5 days had. Sleepless nights (now thankfully filled with music), breakfast, group therapy, “personal reflection”, lunch, one-on-one therapy, 1 hour of freezing your ass off outdoors, dinner, then back to bed. It was… exhausting.</p>
<p>By the end of the first week Ronan’s first supplies were delivered, he’d reluctantly informed Dr. Allen that he didn’t wish to see Declan yet, though avoided telling him why. He wasn’t ready to see that look in his brother’s blue eyes, the one that shattered him in his hospital bed. So he passed along a simple note to be given to Declan when he arrived. An exchange. Ronan received a simple sketch pad, and charcoals (he wasn’t ready to use color). Declan was given a piece of notebook paper with the following printed in Ronan’s signature chicken scratch:</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Thank you. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Brother- Kodaline</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan would never know what happened when his brother left that day. Declan made his way to his car slowly, the note clenched in his shaking fist. He preferred his feelings in private. As he slid into the driver’s seat, and turned on his car, he pulled up the song Ronan had given him, turned up the volume and closed his eyes. By the time the chorus arrived, Declan’s knuckles were white, hands strangling his steering wheel. Great sobs, a moment of earth-shattering weakness, wracking his body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>If I was dying on my knees, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You would be the one to rescue me, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And if you would drown at sea, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’d give you my lungs so you could breathe, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve got you brother, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve got you brother, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve got you brother.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In that moment, Declan knew, with a certainty only a Lynch could have, that Ronan would be okay. And so he listened; he cried. And When the song ended, bowed his head, gave thanks to God then put his car in reverse and drove home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the end of the second week, Ronan was allowed his first visit from someone who wasn’t a familial relation. He was in his room, EMFS playlist blasting in his ears as he hunched over his latest piece of art - mess of dark lines, shadows, and chaos- When Gansey strolled in. He wasn’t sure how long Gansey had been standing at his door, watching him when he finally looked up, and double-tapped his left Airpod to pause <em>Mr. Rattlebone</em>.</p>
<p>For a moment, they remained silent. Hazel eyes boring into blue. Gansey wore a lilac button down tucked neatly into navy slacks, light-brown leather boots to match his belt and watch poking beneath the hem, and a pea-coat slung neatly over his left arm. In his right he held two gift bags.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey,” Gansey spoke softly, breaking the silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Would you mind terribly if I-” He motioned to the end of Ronan’s bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan cleared his throat, closed his sketch pad, pulled out his Airpods and brought his long legs up to his chest. “No, for sure, yeah, sit.” He sounded like an idiot to his own ears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So…” Gansey began after sitting down and turning to face Ronan. “How, are you?” The question wasn’t unexpected but irritated Ronan nevertheless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Living the fucking dream, Dick.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ronan,” Gansey sighed. “You’re right. That was a stupid question, I apologize. It’s just… I haven’t spoken to you in weeks, and it’s not something I’m accustomed to. I won’t pretend I haven’t been worried, and while I am genuinely curious how you are I’ll refrain fro-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gans, it’s fine. I’m… sorry, that was…. Rude. I’m handling it. I’m fine. Bored as all shit, but fine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay. Good. Wonderful. Spec-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dick”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right, right. Sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So,” Ronan prodded, needing desperately to get off this currently painful attempt at feelings and small talk. “What’ve you got there Dick? Please say it’s drugs.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s not at all funny, Ronan.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shit… I’m, yeah you’re right. That was…” Ronan trailed off. He knew that it was probably the wrong thing to say. He’d said it anyways, to gauge where Gansey was with him. Apparently, not there. Got it. He cleared his throat a second time, hands wrapping themselves tighter around his knees. “Well… Then what is it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This first one is from Noah,” Gansey said softly, as he pushed a bright pink gift bag in front of Ronan. He adjusted, bringing his legs into a criss-cross and pulling the obnoxious bag into his lap.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How… How is he Gans? I never, he wasn’t at the hospital. I haven’t been able to talk to him, and I-” Gansey held up a hand to stop his rambling, then gently brought it down to Ronan’s wrist. Ronan stared at the tan hand gently resting over his angry scar, then brought his eyes up to Gansey.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He’s handling it. It was, a lot for him Ronan. But, he loves you. That hasn’t changed. He wanted me to tell you that he misses you. And- that he’s sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He has nothing t-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know, but he made me promise to tell you anyways.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay,” Ronan whispered, closing his burning eyes for a moment. He removed his hand from under Gansey’s and reached into the bag. The first item he pulled out was a box. He looked expectantly at Gansey who shook his head slightly, brows drawn together he opened the lid. Inside were two bracelets made of 5 black bands of leather each. Embossed at the clasp of each was a semicolon. The tears he hadn’t wanted to shed in front of Gansey today made their way slowly down his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let me…” Gansey whispered, and removed the first bracelet. Ronan shook as Gansey slowly slid the sleeve of his hoodie up his forearm, then gently brought the bracelet around his wrist. He repeated the motion with the second, then leaned forward to brush a stray tear off of Ronan’s chin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you,” he rasped. Gansey nodded. Ronan, reached back into the pink bag and from it pulled an old copy of <em>The Perks of Being a Wallflower</em> by Stephen Chbosky. He knew this copy intimately, it was Noah’s favorite book and could always be found resting on his nightstand, or in his hands on a bad day. He opened the book with a reverence he usually reserved for the bible, and inside found an inscription:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“This moment will just be another story someday.” -Stephen Chbosky </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Never forget that you are loved. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You are wanted. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You are needed. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>-Noah </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan closed the book and moved it to his nightstand. He took a deep steadying breath, and nodded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gansey asked, “Okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay,” he replied.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gansey moved the second bag onto his lap. This one, a tasteful charcoal grey with blue tissue paper. The bag itself was larger and heavier than the first, and his confusion must have been evident when Gansey spoke again, “Oh, just open it would you?” Ronan snorted, the first smile he’d felt on his face in weeks, making an appearance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck okay, sorry.” He ripped the tissues from the bag with the enthusiasm of a 4 year old high on confectioners sugar, and Christmas cheer. The blue sheets flying around his bed, one even landing on Gansey’s head before sliding off on an imperceptible wind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gans….” He whispered, slowly sliding the first gift from the bag. It was a black leather-bound sketchbook. Larger than the one he had requested from Declan, the paper, a higher quality than he had used in a long time. “I can’t-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can, and you will. So shut up and open it.”</p>
<p>The front cover of the book had an embossed raven in the center. The side folded over the top and tied off with a small leather eyelet, which he unhooked and slowly opened the masterpiece in his lap. On the inside of the front cover was a second embossing, this one read:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Excelsior </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>R.N.L </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shook his head, and found Gansey’s eyes. “Onward and upward.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Onward and upward,” Gansey nodded. “There is more, but before you open it, let me say this. You’ve been given a gift. I know it doesn’t feel like that, but for someone with talent like yours, you… more than anyone I know, deserved color. I know that you asked Dec for charcoal, I’m assuming it’s because you weren’t ready-” Ronan was reaching into the bag again as he spoke, pulling out a cherrywood box, and shaking his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“- but I think maybe you could be. If not now, then soon. Regardless,” he gestured for Ronan to open the box, “I wanted to bring you a rainbow.” The latch was simple and as Ronan lifted the lid he was met with rows and rows of colored pastels. Every color he’d read about and tenfold more he’d never seen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He choked on a sob, “Gans… Thank you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re welcome. Now, I do hope you use these soon because this room is awfully boring.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re fucking telling me,” Ronan quipped, smiling though his damn eyes wouldn’t stop their relentless downpour. It was fucking embarrassing, and yet, beautiful. A world of color at his fingertips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They’re all labeled, so you can learn the ones they never taught us. The colors I mean, and if you have a favorite, or run out while you’re here don’t hesitate to tell me. I’ll bring you replacements.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan reached forward, one arm cradling this box of dreams, the other hand coming to Gansey’s arm. “I’m sorry Gansey, for all of it. I’m so fucking sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know you are, but thank you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan and gansey sat in silence for a while, a comfortable camaraderie. And when the nurse came to collect Gansey at the end of the hour, the two men, close as brothers, hugged in the middle of the room. They held on, like the other was the foundation upon which their world was built, and stayed that way until the nurse cleared her throat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh fuck off,” Ronan growled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ronan!” Gansey chided, “I’m so sorry ma’am, I will of course hurry along, if you wouldn’t mind pointing me in the proper direction?” Ronan rolled his eyes, the senator’s son making an appearance yet again. As he made his way back to his bed, Gansey stopped at the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve been told that you’re allowed visits on Mondays and fridays. I assure you I’ll be here for each and every one.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t have t-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll see you Monday.” Gansey punctuated his statement with two sharp knocks against the door frame, and a dip of his head; then disappeared around the corner and Ronan was left alone once more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Excelsior.” He whispered to no one, and picked up his sketchbook.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. When September Ends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Adam's POV during September, takes place at same time as CH. 3</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter was honestly a struggle for me. I find I am more comfortable writing Ronan's POV because I identify with him more-so than Adam? Idk. This was a push for me, my writing, and my ability to listen to big-sad songs for hours to get in a melancholy head-space.</p>
<p>I have to give a HUGE shoutout to BansheeBabbles who is always pushing me, supporting me, and betaing everything I write.</p>
<p>TW Description of abuse i.e. ROBERT PARRISH flashback/ reference. In the first letter. <br/>TW reference (brief and convoluted) to suicide attempt  in ch1</p>
<p>That being said maybe a CW for language and grief, Adam not handling shit well AT ALL.</p>
<p>Oh, also probably typos bc I'm garbage.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Adam Parrish woke in the early hours on the third day after the alley. The pre-dawn glow streaming through the crack in his curtains cast shadows on the plants and books covering his shelves. Eyes heavy and throat raw, Adam took a deep breath. In through his nose, oxygen flooding his lungs, battling to release the weight that had long since laid claim on the space behind his ribs. He held it until he thought he might choke. Vision blurring, heartbeat hammering in his ears, a pulsing reminder that he was still here; then in a rush, he released. The momentary weightlessness was a small reprieve.</p>
<p>The tiny arm slung across his abdomen a reminder that, at least for now, he wasn’t alone. Blue had crawled into his bed the afternoon before and stayed with him through the long night. Adam moved her arm off and slid as carefully and quietly as he could from the bed, he didn’t wish to wake her. She needed sleep, the exhaustion evident on her face even now.</p>
<p>He moved toward the window, reaching out to open his curtains, allowing the morning light to flood in. And there he stood, hand still holding the curtain, eyes trained on the horizon. He remained unmoved, watching the sun crawl from the earth bathing everything in its path in colors Adam had never seen. They were fresh, warm, soft. They stole his breath and for a moment, a lifetime, he stood frozen and allowed that hopeful warmth to settle in his bones. In awe of the majesty of nature, swallowed whole by the gift of color, broken by it.</p>
<p>His breath stuttered.</p>
<p>The man in the alley would never see a sunrise, or a sunset. He had given Adam this gift and left mere hours before Adam could have reciprocated. His thoughts spiraled, fingers tightening on the curtain, eyes burning. The sunrise moved from photographic clarity to an impressionist painting, and salt kissed his lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Adam…” Blue breathed from his side, reaching out and pulling aside the second curtain to allow a full view.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s-” Adam choked on a whisper, “It’s magnificent, and he’ll never see.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Adam spent the rest of the week coping in the only way he knew how: throwing himself into his jobs and school work. Blue and Henry had closed ranks, showering him with their own personal versions of love.</p>
<p>For Henry, it was distraction, mindless conversation, a steady companionship during hours in the library. Henry Cheng, though initially someone Adam never saw friendship potential in, was more than most gave him credit for. On the outside, he was loud. From his clothes to hair, he was unabashedly himself: caring, vibrant, loyal. Adam appreciated the effort, never pressured to talk about what was clearly tearing him apart. Blue was the opposite, in a very Blue way. She brought him coffees and hugs, asked him about his mood, and made highly unsubtle references to “healthy coping mechanisms.” She was kind but stern, pushing him towards what he knew logically was the next step. But this trauma was too big, too heady to file away in the closet in his mind marked “DANGER.”</p>
<p>It had been a little over a week since he watched his first true sunrise when Blue decided to take off the kid gloves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look.” Her voice was as unwavering as her eye contact, sitting next to him on the chipped-white metal bench in the alley beside Nino’s Cafe where they took their break. Nino’s was his second job, and Blue’s “fun money/ free caffeine” job, covering the hours she wasn’t working on her photography portfolio.</p>
<p>Adam held her gaze, and his breath. Her tone brokered no room for argument, and he knew he had spent enough time avoiding answering anything truthfully… Her forcing a “talk” on him was inevitable. He nodded once to indicate he was listening, and waited for her to continue.</p>
<p>“I know you aren’t ready to talk, and that is completely fine. I won’t bullshit you and pretend I have any idea what kind of pain you’re in. No- no,” she held up a finger to cut off Adam’s rebuttal. “Don’t shake your head and feed me you’re <em>‘I’m fine’</em> because we both know you’re not. That being said you’re a grown ass man, who makes his own decisions and I respect that. But, Adam?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He cocked his head to the side, and made a noncommittal grunt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You need to do something. You know I always advocate therapy, but -don’t scoff asshole- <em>BUT</em>, I’m also aware that it’s <em>‘not your thing’</em> so I had another idea. Here,” Blue thrust a bag towards Adam. It was a recycled paper shopping bag, rolled at the top and lighter than he expected.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s this?” He asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Open it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He unrolled the bag skeptically and peered inside. His right eyebrow hitched as he looked away from the bag’s contents and towards Blue. “The fuck?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Letters. That’s my idea. Something I never told you but, when my dad left I had all this rage and I had no one to direct it towards. My mom got me a pack of envelopes and blank paper and told me to try writing a letter to him. She told me I didn’t ever have to send what I wrote to him if I didn’t want too, and I didn’t. The act of venting everything in a direct way really helped me, it was more than a diary, or whatever, because these were shots at an intended target. I could be mad and then seal it in an envelope and the weight in my chest lifted a little. I thought maybe…” She motioned towards the bag with a crooked smile and a shrug.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Letters…” Adam repeated. “To a <em>dead</em> guy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Blue, I don’t know.” “Look, just take the damn bag. Do it, or don’t. I can’t and wont force you. But at least consider it.” Then she rose to her full height, the most intimidating 5 feet he had ever seen, giving him what could only be called a “mom look” and sauntered back inside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That night, weighted down by grief and half delirious with exhaustion, Adam opened the bag. He pulled out the box of white envelopes, cracked open the pack of college-rule paper, and grabbed a black pen from the cup at the right of his desk. <em>This is so stupid</em>, he thought as he put his pen to paper...</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>i. </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I never knew your name. You left before I ever had the chance to ask. I wish more than anything that I knew your name, at least then I’d be able to grieve a person instead of a stranger in an alley. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You were… Exquisite. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Even floating in a pool of your own life, you were beautiful. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You were. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Past tense. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Gone. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I dreamed of knowing you. The idea of you, in abstract my whole life. I didn’t know who you’d be, but, still I dreamed. It was my secret. The odds of finding your soulmate are so slim these days, and yet… In the quiet hours of the night, bone tired and barely standing at work, or when the hunger pains threatened to cripple me, I’d pull you out of the careful place in my mind, and dream. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s dangerous to dream. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I know better now. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You fucking left me. How dare you? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>It’s probably a good thing you’ll never read these letters. Blue, my best friend, suggested I write them to help me “find closure.” That’s very Blue. She’s all about self-care and talking through feelings. Henry, my other friend, agrees with her. So here I am, attempting to vomit my heart on a page in hope of finding some semblance of peace.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> There is so much I wish I could have told you, and so much more that would have terrified me to admit. That’s one benefit to your never knowing me I suppose... Honestly, it was probably for the best that, in the end, you never had the chance to try knowing me. I’m a disaster. I’m unknowable. And that’s, fine. Ya know? I’m okay, I think. Holding onto that which sets me apart, and working my hardest to fix everything else that’s in my power. That’s how I got here. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Georgetown. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I did it myself. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>That’s something I would have told you, because it’s something I am proud of, though I’ll never say. I worked 3 jobs through high school, made straight A’s, volunteered, and slaved away. I saved money in a shoe-box under a loose vent in my trailer to buy books. My dad would have killed me, literally, if he’d ever found that. I was supposed to give them everything, but I hid that. I hid so much. I got really good at hiding in that place. Henrietta… What a fucking shit show. Anyways, I saved and pushed myself. I think I ate maybe once a day for those years, if I was lucky? I know I barely slept. But it was worth it the day the acceptance letter came in the mail. Georgetown. 3 hours away. A world away. A full ride. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I was so fucking happy that day, I even allowed myself to dip into the shoe-box to buy a coke from the gas station by the auto-shop I worked at. That was my life then, and still is now, to some extent. Small rewards, focus on the bigger picture. Work, work, work, and then one day have the power and money, the status, the ability to fight for people like me. I had barely put the box back when my dad, Robert, saw me holding my acceptance letter, and a $20. I wasn’t allowed to have money in my room, even if I made it myself. It was “for the family” he always said. “Do you want us to starve?” “you think you’re so fancy at your charter school don’t you?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Always the same. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Always cruel. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>So I’m standing there, money and letter in hand, smiling like an idiot when he comes in. I’ll never forget that day. I’d taken so many beatings from him by the time I was 17, it was second nature really. But this one? For some reason it surprised me. I thought for sure that he would be capable of some sense of joy. I got into college, for free. But Robert wasn’t like that. I could smell the beer on his breath. Keystone, always fucking Keystone. It smells like piss. It still makes me gag. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“What the fuck is that?” he asked. And I didn’t know how to respond. I remember stuttering. I was always stuttering, mumbling, hiding, lying. Anything to avoid the inevitable. “I asked you a question, boy.” I panicked. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Its, uh, a letter, sir. An acceptance letter. From college. I-I got in.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Apparently it wasn’t the right response. I don’t remember much after that, I know he told me I had no right to hide money because I “owed him.” I always owed him. For breathing, for having the audacity to live. That night was the worst I can remember though. He wouldn’t stop. He was screaming about how I wasn’t allowed to just leave. I took more hits than usual, but I could have handled it. I’m no stranger to broken bones and bruises. But I was so scared this time. I knew, somehow I knew that this was it. If I didn’t get out he was going to kill me. Kill me because of a $20 and a full ride. I tried to run. I did. I never made it very far though. He caught me, and the last thing I remember was a screaming pain in the left side of my head. I don’t know why I’m even writing all this, maybe Blue and Henry were right? I’ve never even told them all of this. I really doubt I would have told you this had I been given the chance. I would have stuck to the barest details: Deaf in left ear. Accident. Long time ago. I don’t talk to my parents. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Or maybe I wouldn’t have hid…Soulmates are a safe space right? Through whatever magic, or science, or God (if you believe in one of those, I don’t- hope you wouldn’t have cared) we are supposed to be able to share it all. A balance. A quiet place. A home. I wonder what you would have said if I told you? I hope it wouldn’t have been pitying. I don’t do pity. I’ll never know that though, which is maybe a relief? I don’t know. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I hope you would have been proud though, that I did get out. Of what I’m doing with my life now. I haven’t even told “you” have I? I got a double Bachelors in Political Science and Conflict Resolution. I’m currently taking a Masters in Public Policy. I know, most people see “Georgetown” and “Politics” and think “Here’s another white guy with dreams of power.” But it’s not that. I’m going to change things, my thesis is on Domestic Violence: prevention and programs. I’m going to fight for the kids like me, in the homes like mine. I’m going to fight for every time I didn’t hit back. Every bruise and broken bone. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m going to change the world for the Adam Parrish’s. I’m going to bring an end to the Roberts. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>That’s what I’m doing now. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I guess I’ll be okay without you. I’ve always been better at work than relationships anyway. If we’re being honest you probably would have hated me. I’m terrible with making time for anyone. I have goals though, I don’t have the luxury to fuck around. I’m not conducive to a partnership, and I’m not even sure I’d be capable of love. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I would have tried for you though. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe you needed that. Maybe if you’d had it, love, you wouldn’t have ended up in the alley. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I don’t know. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I wish I could ask you why. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I just… fuck. This letter is getting severely out of hand. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It doesn’t matter why you did it. You did. And that’s that, I suppose. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Forever a mystery, the man with the beautiful face and ice blue eyes. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“I used to build dreams about you.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, Benediction </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>That’s all you are now. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>A dream. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He folded the pages in thirds, slipping them in an envelope, and sealing them away. On the outside he wrote the number one, then slid the envelope into a crack between one of his potted plants and a row of books on his window sill. Then Adam crawled into bed and finally slept; for once it was a dreamless- restorative sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shattered heart hanging heavy in his chest, Adam looked up when the bell above the door to Nino’s chimed the arrival of a new patron. The young couple made their way towards the counter. The smaller man leaning lovingly into the side of his partner, while the taller man looked down lovingly, arm draped across the first’s shoulders. It was a quiet moment, something so personal and beautiful Adam looked down, he didn’t want to intrude. His hands were shaking, a bitter jealousy crashing like waves in a storm through his entire being. He took a steadying breath, trying to quell the rage, and uncapped the black marker, grabbing a cup to prepare to take their order.</p>
<p>“Hi,” he bit out through his customer service smile. He looked up from the cup in hand, allowing a little of his Henrietta lilt to color his words into something close to friendly. “Welcome to Nino’s, what can I get started for you today?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hi! Can we please get a- Oh, wow!” The shorter man had stopped mid-sentence and leaned close to Adam across the counter. “Your eyes are so blue! Babe, have you ever seen eyes so beautiful?” Adam wanted to <em>fucking snap</em>. The larger man leaned in as well and hummed in approval.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No I haven’t, sorry. I know this is probably so inappropriate,” he leaned back, tone placating. “We don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, this is just all new for us-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Adam didn’t fucking care. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“-Anyways, can we please get two Americanos, and a a slice of apple pie with two forks?”</p>
<p><em>Of course, </em>Adam nodded. He Finished the order and made the drinks with shaking hands and a barely controlled rage burning him from within, blooming pink across his cheeks.</p>
<p>
  <em>He couldn’t breathe. </em>
</p>
<p>When he returned home, he slammed his door and flew to his desk; practically tearing a lined sheet from the pile of supplies from Blue and began to write. Pen pressed so hard small tears formed in the paper as he purged…</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>ii. </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck you for what you did. For what you did to yourself. What you did to that man in the alley. Screaming. Begging. Holding you together. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>For what you did to me. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I hate you. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I hate that I love you. The idea of you. Because you couldn’t even wait for me. I never got the chance to love the real you, and I loathe you for it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You fucking left me alone. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>All this goddamn color, all these beautiful things, and I’m still living in black and white. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m drowning. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You were my hope. You were my end game. Sometimes, I fear you’ll be my end. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I can’t get away from the idea of you. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I see your face every time I close my eyes. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You’re haunting me. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You’re ruining me.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck you. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I hate you. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck, You. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You… </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Why did you leave me all alone? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he finished his breath was ragged, chest rising and falling in heavy swells. Angry tears drying splotches across the page before him, turning certain words into a blurry but still legible watercolor. He threw his pen across the room, shoved the letter into the envelope marked 2, and placed it alongside the first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Adam spent the remaining days of September numb. He had taken to carrying a few sheets of paper and envelopes in his messenger bag in case he ever needed them.</p>
<p>It was on one particular afternoon -two days before September ended- as he sat in Nino’s sipping coffee and staring blankly at the textbook in front of him, that he wrote his third letter. He felt un-tethered, unbalanced, the sky outside was such a pale blue that his mind began to wander. With a sigh, he pulled out a sheet of paper, and an envelope marking the outside with the number three.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>iii. </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m so lost… </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I can’t fall asleep without seeing your eyes. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Unfocused. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Unblinking. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Ice cold. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Fathomless. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Broken. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I wonder how they looked when you were happy… I hope you were happy, truly happy. At least once there before the end. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I bet they were beautiful. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Come back. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Please… </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Adam stayed staring at that plea, that unanswered wish, until his coffee was cold. He wondered if this would ever end, he wasn’t unfamiliar with want. Adam had <em>wanted</em> more than anyone he had ever known. He was accustomed to the pain, the resentment that came with wanting that which you cannot have, but unlike all the other times this was wholly unattainable. No amount of extra shifts, A’s on homework, perfect test scores, hard-work would ever give him this particular want.</p>
<p>He packed his bag slowly, tossing his coffee in the trash by the door and waving halfheartedly at his coworker behind the counter. The bell chimed his departure and he made his way out into the chilly September afternoon. The walk from Nino’s to his apartment was blessedly short. As he rounded the corner at the end of the block he was assaulted by the acrid smell of smoke.</p>
<p>Adam looked up, chill already forgotten, for the source and his eyes landed on a peculiar sight: A handsome man, in a nice crisp pea-coat and cashmere scarf. Standing, hands clasped behind his neck, staring into the open maw of a smoking, Candy-Orange, ‘73 Camero.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey!” he half shouted, making his way towards the gentleman, his greeting had clearly disturbed an emotional crisis. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, did you maybe need some help?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, hi. Yes, Hello. I’m, no thank you. I’m alright. I’ll give someone a call, The Pig is an auto-shop frequent flyer I’m afraid. Though, I’ve never seen it smoke <em>quite</em> so heavily.” The man half laughed, and shook his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t mind, I’m actually a mechanic down at Boyds. I can take a peak and see if I can do anything here if you’d like? Save you a trip.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you sure? I’d be more than happy to pay y-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Adam shook his head fiercely, “No need. I’m Adam, by the way.” He held out his hand towards the man, who grasped his in kind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A vibrant smile lit his face, “Lovely to meet you Adam, I’m Gansey.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone reading, commenting, kudos, taking the time to just give this thing a shot. You're all incredible and the fact that ANYONE is reading this is honestly shocking. </p>
<p>STAY SAFE DURING THIS COVID 19 shit please &lt;3 I'm on quarantine so I'm hoping to push out a lot of content during this time, we shall see!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Kismet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alrighty, my loves! This chapter has been a labor of love from the beginning. I wont lie when I say that this chapter has a line that I consider the writing I'm most proud of ever creating. Which is saying something because, as most of you can understand it's often hard to be proud of what you create. </p>
<p>A few notes to kick this off: There will be two art pieces referenced in this chapter, they correlate to a song that I will list in the end notes. The EMFS playlist is used in this chapter again as well, the link to the ACTUAL spotify EMFS playlist can be found in chapter 2.</p>
<p>TW: reference to suicide attempt (brief but vivid- one sentence of oof), mention of blood, panic attack though it's done very abstract (Adam is a mess), If I need to add any more let me know &lt;3</p>
<p>I hope y'all enjoy, and as usual thank you all for taking the time to read/comment/kudos. I adore each and every one of you. Stay safe my loves &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>IV. </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You, </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I made a friend last week. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I know for most people that wouldn’t be a big deal, but I assume by now You understand what that means for someone like me. I guess “friend” may be a generous term? I don’t know if we are there yet, Blue definitely disagrees with him “on principle.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You see, President Cellphone as she calls him, or Richard Campbell Gansey III (I know, what a douchey fucking name) is all boat shoes and privledge and perfect teeth. Gansey isn’t someone I’d normally associate with mind you, Henry kind of met my quota for rich extroverts in the inner circle, and yet… </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>So, here’s the story. I’m writing my last letter right? And I was so fucking lost. I decided to walk home from Nino’s- I thought maybe it would help me settle. And there, right around the corner is this fucking ‘73 camero. It should have been beautiful, really.. A classic like that? It’s a dream to look at. Only this fucking thing is the UGLIEST color of candy orange you could ever imagine… And it’s blowing smoke all over the damn place. I was honestly going to leave boat-shoes to call his daddy or mechanic or what have you, but he looked so confused. I offered to help him out and was able to get it running long enough to get to Boyd’s. I expected him to just drop off “The Pig” (the car) like any normal person and come back for it, only I apparently made “quite the impression.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Gansey ended up staying with me, prattling on about his Masters History program and some welsh king the ENTIRE time I worked on the damn car. At first I was tuning him out, but without realizing it I became completely entranced by the whole story. I’ve never seen such passion for anything, and I have VERY spirited friends. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He has one of those voices you know? The kind that can stop a room, raise an army, lead a nation. The kind that demands to be heard without ever having to raise itself.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> That’s Gansey though. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I think he’ll be good for me, I don’t think he’d give me much of a choice in the matter though to be honest. He kind of adopted me this week? That should bother me and yet, being around him is just… It’s being included. It’s a sense of purpose. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I think he needs it too, he doesn’t seem to talk about negative things but you can tell, he’s haunted by something. That’s what solidified it for me really. He may be a senator’s son but he’s seen some shit. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I wish you could have met him, I wonder if you would have been as intrigued by him as I find myself. Blue is being a total idiot about him, but I’m about 82% sure it’s because she is into him. I know for sure the feeling is mutual. It took Gans approximately 15 minutes after meeting Blue to ask me for her life story, offend her beyond measure, and then haul ass out of Nino’s. It was the first time I’d seriously laughed in so long. Have you ever been second-hand embarrassed for someone? It was that. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m going to wrap this up now though, I need to head to Nino’s for my shift, Blue’s working so of course Gans is stopping by. He said he’s bringing one of his best friends with him, some dude named Noah. Apparently he’s pretty cool, so I’m moderately less apprehensive. He said he wished he could bring his other best friend/ his and Noah’s third roommate but the guy is staying with family for a few months or something. Idk? He doesn’t talk about the other roommate much. I honestly don’t even think he’s ever said his name. Who gives a shit though, I can barely handle one new friend, let alone a 3-pack of Ganseys. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Good God… I hope Noah isn’t another Gansey…. Fuck. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Welp. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Here goes nothing. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It started with a not-so-subtle idea from the esteemed Dr. Allen. “Show me what happened.” Ronan was never great with words before all this, and since… When he spoke it was usually a litany of curse words. So Dr. Allen had suggested art. In the weeks since his entombment in this fine rehabilitation center, Ronan had kind of already been doing what he was being asked to do now. Though, he didn’t mention it to Allen. He’d spent countless hours sketching his life, the whole thing, in snapshots inside that beautiful leather sketchbook Gansey had given him.</p>
<p>He started at the beginning, pictures of Aurora and his brothers, the Barns, his father playing guitar by the fire. He drew their family vacations, the cows he used to sneak out and sleep beside when he was a child, the feeling of winning the Tennis State Championship when he was 15. He drew the bad things too, his nightmares, his drug-trips, that old stained couch in the basement of Kavinsky’s house. He put every piece of himself, all 22 years of memories down in that book, woven together with song lyrics in the margins.</p>
<p>So when Dr. Allen asked him to look specifically "to his addiction and create," he didn’t see a problem. He needed to return to school with a series anyways, Declan had called to inform him that strings had been pulled to allow him to finish his final semester at Georgetown, but he needed to walk in with something to show at the January exhibition. Two birds, and all that.</p>
<p>He settled on 7 pieces, each done in oils on canvas, each accompanied by a song. 7 moments in the life of his battle with addiction, from the beginning to now. With each stroke of his brush he felt infinitesimally lighter, pouring his grief into the images before him.</p>
<p>It started with “The Fall.” His father’s murder in reds and greys; fracturing lines and deep shadows. He mixed his paints with tears and used his heart to drag color across the canvas. For the first time in years, Ronan allowed the memory to consume him. He’d re-lived it plenty of times in his nightmares, but this was different. His hands shook, jagged strokes of anger and confusion bleeding through. He painted the brief moment, the final moment, when his world was whole before his teenage mind finally realized what it was he was looking at. His last free breath. And he painted his screams, the cacophony of pain, endlessly mixing with sirens until his vocal chords gave out.</p>
<p>He drowned the canvas in unkept promises and hung it out to dry with childhood dreams.</p>
<p>Then came “Chasing the Void.” It was a story told in stark lighting. High beams on a backroad, swirling smoke and broken bottles. It was white glasses and white-powder lines on shark-nosed hood. It was going 115mph, bones rattling with the beat of the bass in his sound system. Ronan painted a black tattoo, used the blood on his knuckles to tint bloodshot eyes. His brush moved with his mother’s disappointment and his brother’s anger. Whimsical lines and Gansey’s head shaking when he found Ronan passed out yet again. He painted the highs and lows when sobriety reminded him that he hated the face that stared back at him in the mirror.</p>
<p>Each new piece he added to the collection was brought to Dr. Allen’s office. Together they worked through each memory associated with the piece and slowly Ronan felt the weight on his chest lighten.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gansey visited every Monday and Friday like clockwork. He kept Ronan apprised to all the goings on of Monmouth and updates on Matthew and Declan. Ronan never asked for them, but he appreciated it regardless. His current obsession though seemed to be a new friend, Adam something. He had been going on for 30 minutes now about how this man single-handedly raised the Pig from the dead. Ronan tuned out most of the conversation, but nodded at what he assumed were appropriate moments while sketching.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ronan, are you even paying attention?” Gansey asked, irritation only slightly evident.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mmm?” Ronan hummed. “For sure. Pig. Smoke. Some new guy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Essentially. I was saying that Noah and I are heading to his second job, the man works 2 jobs and is getting a masters can you believe it? Anyways Nino’s, so Noah can finally meet him and Blue. Have I mentioned her yet?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Blue?</em> He thought. <em>Who the fuck names their kid Blue.</em> “Once or twice.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well they both work this afternoon, so I assume we’ll just hang there until they get off. Then maybe grab a bite. I wish you could come, I’m sure you’d get along nicely with Adam.” Gansey said, choosing to ignore the previous sarcasm and barrel on. <em>Excelsior</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Doubt it.” <em>Guy sounds like a douche</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“On that note, thank you for another lovely visit. I’ll see you Monday, Ronan.” Gansey gathered his coat and made his way to the door with a final wave.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ronan waved back with a single finger and a saccharine “Bye, Dick.” Then shoved his Airpods back into his ears and lost himself in the EMFS playlist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Adam gathered the tub of dirty dishes from above the trash and made his way back to wash them, he was lost in thought. These last two weeks, recent events, had been so much and yet he strangely was beginning to feel some semblance of peace. He knew that Blue had wanted him to write letters to help him cope. If he was admitting to it helping, he also needed to be honest with himself in noting that it may have been hurting just as much. He was falling in love with a ghost. A figment of his imagination that he could tell his every secret too, someone who listened without judgment; Someone who never asked more of him than he could handle. It wasn’t healthy, wasn’t what Blue had intended, of that he was sure. But, if it brought him peace and allowed him to sleep without seeing cold, dead eyes, then what was the harm?</p>
<p>He rinsed the mugs and plates loading them efficiently into the dishwasher, and dried his hands. As he moved to toss the towel into the bin, he heard the bell chime above the cafe door. He made his way slowly to the front, knowing that Blue was currently handling the register meant that he didn’t need to rush. On his way down the hallway he stopped to straighten a missing cat flier on the community bulletin board, taking a moment to snap a picture of the cat in question so he could be on the lookout, then continued toward the front; eyes glued to his phone.</p>
<p>He rounded the corner towards the coffee bar to the tune of laughter, it seemed Gansey had arrived. His eyes found Blue first. For all her insistence that she loathed the man in question, she was positively glowing, head tossed back in a hearty laugh. Lost in the bubble of charm Gansey operated in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“-And so I asked him, mind you I’ve had a lot to drink at this point, ‘Hey senator, why do you fucking hate poor peo-‘ <em>Oh</em>! Adam” Ganseys story of embarrassing his mother at one of her Republican fundraisers interrupted, as he caught sight of Adam sliding behind the bar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey Gans,” He smiled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My apologies, this is Noah.” Gansey stepped to the side to reveal the man in question, and Adam’s breath stopped.</p>
<p>There, eyes blue and wide with shock, mouth agape stood the man from the alley. The one whose scream still haunted Adam in the dark, solitary hours of sleep. The one that began his every nightmare of that night. He was different now, tears weren’t pouring from his eyes to dance across the plains of his smudgey face. His blonde hair free of blood was slightly tousled, and his clothes were clean, albeit a little disheveled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>No</em>,” the word was a broken noise, barely a word at all, closer to a sob. Gansey and Blue looked frantically between the two for what seemed like an eternity before Noah spoke.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>It’s you…</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who? Noah, you know Adam?” Gansey’s voice was quietly confused.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Adam began to shake his head slowly, increasing with speed as his breath finally returned to him; Erratic and wild. Crocodile tears blurred his vision, and he finally croaked a simple question, “What… What was his name?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ronan.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, god” Blue breathed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Adam ran, desperately fleeing the scene and chorus of his name called from the front. Ronan, his name was Ronan. Adam couldn’t breathe. His pain fresh, an un-mendable wound reopened now that he had a name to grieve. He paused, only long enough to grab his messenger bag from the back, and took the alley door.</p>
<p>Then he ran, faster than he’d ever remembered running. Tears turning the colors of the world around him to a haunting watercolor. His breath came in painful stabs, each beat of his bleeding heart an excruciating truth.</p>
<p>He somehow made it back to his apartment. The moment the door closed behind him he fell against it and slid to the floor. <em>Ronan Ronan Ronan-</em></p>
<p>“R-Ronan.” He spoke the name the first time aloud, the feeling of its weight on his tongue was an answer to a question he’d been asking for a month. For a lifetime.</p>
<p>Adam didn’t know how long he sat on the floor, grief taking time and twisting it in on itself. An amalgam of pain, hopelessness, and questions. Gansey, Gansey knew Ronan, knew Noah. Noah the boy he’d last seen carted away in the back of an ambulance covered in <em>red red red</em>. Noah, who’d screamed for help like the world was shattering. Noah, who’d clung tightly to the shredded arms of a bleeding man in a dark alley.</p>
<p><em>Help me</em>, his mind screamed, his internal voice morphing into Noah’s from that night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Help me, I’m not okay…</em>
</p>
<p>A key twisting in the lock above his head brought his attention to the present. Adam pushed away from the door, and waited as Blue made her way into his dark apartment. Night had fallen sometime since he’d been here, on the floor, lost in the alley. Lost in a name. “Hey,” she whispered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Th-that was-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know. Noah told us after you left. Adam, there’s… Adam. I need to tell you something.”</p>
<p>It was a concentrated effort to drag his gaze from the space between their bodies on the floor to meet her eyes. Lights from the street poured through the window in the living room, painting Blue’s honey warm skin in a haunting glow. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, so he waited. He watched. She brought a trembling hand to his, her brown eyes lined with silver, she squeezed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Adam, <em>he’s alive</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A sob born of heartbreak and pain tore from his chest, he couldn’t form words. He broke then, completely and wholly. Blue came to cradle his head against her chest as he cried. Every hope he’d killed since the alley came barreling to the surface; All the pain and confusion, love and questions, beating like waves against the shores of his mind. Some minutes later he finally raised his head and met Blue’s eyes, her smile was wet and broken. He dragged his hand under his nose, across his eyes, and finally found the word to the question he needed to ask. “How?”</p>
<p>So Blue told him. Apparently, him finding Noah and Ronan in that alley, the tourniquet he’d made of his scarf, that extra minute he’d bought him had been enough. The doctors were able to stitch his wounds, and though it had been a close call, he’d pulled through. She explained that he’d had a hard life, though Gansey wouldn’t give details because he insisted those were Ronan’s to share when he was ready. He did however give her basic facts. Ronan Niall Lynch is an artist, a senior at Georgetown. He’s an orphan, and a brother. He’s an addict in recovery at a facility in Arlington, and Gansey’s third roommate.</p>
<p>Blue explained that, when Adam was ready Gansey and Noah wanted to meet with him, to talk more. She offered to accompany him when that time came, but they all agreed they wouldn’t push him until he was ready. “Thank you,” he’d said to Blue. For getting the information. For telling him. For allowing him space. She understood that his history made this difficult, an addict for a soulmate was something he would need time to process. She eventually asked if he wanted to be alone and when he’d told her “yes” she kissed his forehead, and made her way to the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Adam,” she paused, and he looked up. “We’ll wait on your text okay? Whenever you’re ready. But please check in so I know you’re safe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I will.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a perfunctory nod she slid back out the door.</p>
<p>Adam spent another minute in silence before dragging himself from the floor. He made his way in a daze to his desk and he collapsed into his chair. Slowly, he pulled out a blank sheet of paper.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hand shook.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He took a deep breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wrote.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>V </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Ronan, </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You’re alive…</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"The Fall" -  The War, SYML<br/>"Chasing the Void"  -  For What It's Worth, Malia J</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Fucking Saturdays</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry it's short!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>***TW: Adam has a negative response in this chapter (letter) where he vents his confusion and internal struggle with addicts/ his experience with Robert. I want to say that, writing that letter was something I'd needed to do. My brother is an addict, so I drew on my own experience with his cycle of relapse and recovery, and all the selfish and angry feelings I've had during it to write the letter. I FULLY SUPPORT AND BELIEVE IN RECOVERY. I just want that to be known, but sometimes you get angry and scared when those you love are struggling. And that's okay.</p><p>BUUUUUUUUUTTTTTT, The long awaited first meeting is here (kinda). I know the world is kinda shit right now, so I hope you'll enjoy some moderate funnies (i tried) and fluff (sorta) with angst (that's for sure). </p><p>sidenote: this is the 2nd chapter I'm putting out today (2 dif AUs) so I'm sorry it's not as strong.</p><p>Mad shout out and a million thank you's to everyone who takes their time reading this AU. I love every comment and kudos (no matter how undeserved) I read here. It's incredible, and I won't lie when I say that I spent like 20 minutes crying happy tears over my last chapter response. It's incredible, for someone who has struggled like I have and still do with confidence in myself to receive any sort of positive praise. I know we've all been there, so just.. Thank y'all, truly. I love y'all &lt;3</p><p>STAY INSIDE!<br/>-Kenz</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>VI </em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ronan, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s been a couple weeks since I first found out about you, since my first letter to you. The real you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gansey and Noah stopped by to talk a few days after the last. I’m sure by now you’ve heard all about what happened that day. They’ve been telling me little things about you and answering as many questions as they felt comfortable. For that I’m grateful. I asked them, you know, if you’d want me to visit you.. Where you are. Gansey said he’d ask the next time he saw you, but came back and told me no. You don’t want to meet me, not yet at least I understand. If I’m being honest the only reason I asked is because it felt like the others expected me too.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The truth? I’m fucking terrified of you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You’re an addict Ronan. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>My SOULMATE is a fucking addict. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I have all the respect in the world for the recovery process but in my experience addicts, like Robert Parrish, never stuck too. For me, addiction is a bruise. A broken rib you breathe through in Gym, an unset arm, a deaf ear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s an irrational and dangerous anger projected directly at those who love you most. Addiction, for those on the outside, is endless heartbreak and fear… Not just for ourselves, but for you. Always for you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tell me Ronan, how is it fair? I spent my life crawling from the dust and carnage of Henrietta. Fighting tooth and nail so I’d never have to look back, never have to be in that environment again and here I am, a man with a future.. Tied to you, tied to your demons. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know that’s selfish, so I guess it’s a damn good thing you’ll never see these. Even writing this down, knowing how hard you’re fighting to be better, makes me feel horrid. But, I can’t ignore that these thoughts are here. I’m struggling. This knowledge is… A lot. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know you’re two months in, and even though I don’t know you really, I’m proud of you. Even though I’m angry at you, and confused by you, I’m proud. You have so much strength Ronan, crawling your way through recovery. Gansey even said you’re painting again and that your brother made sure you’ll be allowed to return to Georgetown to finish your degree. That’s… Amazing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope one day, when you agree to meet me, I’ll be given the chance to see what you create. I wonder what you’re doing now that you have color. I’m sure it’s incredible. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When I finally see you, if I don’t completely lose my mind as I’m known to do, I know I’ll have so many questions for you and your artist soul. I wonder if you love the Sunrise as much as I do, I’d never seen something so breathtaking as the first morning I saw it. I was standing at my window, it was days after the alley and there it was. Resplendent. Holy. I remember crying because I thought you’d never see it, and I hated thinking you wouldn’t see beauty such as the view from my shitty apartment window.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m so glad you have though. That you’ve had months of sunrises and sunsets to color your world while you fight. That you’ll have years more of them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> I hope. I hope, I hope, I hope. It’s like a mantra these days. I hope he doesn’t hate me for saving him. I hope he isn’t disappointed when he meets me. I hope he doesn’t hate me for struggling. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope he stays. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope he fights. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope he’s kind. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You have a month left in rehab. I’ll respect your distance, I’ll respect my own. It seems like the both of us are, needless to say, drowning in our own issues. So I’ll wait, and hope that you’ll find me when you’re ready. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Until then I’ll be here. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ll wait. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ll figure out a way to be okay with this. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*************************************************</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ronan Lynch, 3 days from freedom, was creating again; the next installment in his leather-bound, parchment life. The book from Gansey had turned into an autobiography in charcoal, every page filled with memory. He was currently blending his way through the memory of a month ago, when his whole world had shifted.</p><p>It was odd, he remembered that day clearly. Sobriety insured his memories were sharp lines, no longer were they fever dreams and nightmares. Gansey had left him, indignant and deep in another piece in this sketchbook- off to coffee, introducing Noah to his two new obsessions: Blue and Adam. He recalled, somewhat embarrassed now, that he’d thought Dick’s <em>new friend</em> sounded like a douchebag. Honestly, though he’d heard more stories about him since, it could still be somewhat true. He doubted it though.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When Gansey left he’d been swallowed by music, the same as every afternoon. The day dragged on and just before sundown there was a knock at the door as it opened. <em>Why bother fucking knocking if you’re just going to open the damn door anyways?</em></p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Lynch?” Nurse Ratchet stepped through the door. Her normally plump and indignant face was subdued. He’d hitched a brow and stared unblinking, a perfect mask though his heart had, for some inexplicable reason, began to beat double time. “You have a couple visitors, is it alright if they come in?”</p><p>She was never this kind, and visiting hours had ended a long time ago. Ronan set his sketch pad aside and moved to stand, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. He nodded once and she stepped back into the hall.</p><p>First came Dr. Allen, his face was calm as it always was though his shoulders were tense. “Ronan y-”</p><p> </p><p>“Who died?” He asked. This is what people always looked like when they told him someone he loved was dead. Like he was a wild animal, their voices soft and postures rigid. He just needed them to rip off the fucking band-aid.</p><p> </p><p>“No one died Ronan, I assure you.” Dr. Allen nearly sputtered his response.</p><p> </p><p>“Then what is it?” As soon as the words had left his mouth his eyes were drawn to the hall behind the good doctor. Standing there: His family.</p><p>Ronan hadn’t seen Matthew since the hospital, a fact that he’d resented but eventually came to terms with. He really didn’t need Matty seeing him this vulnerable. Matthew was smiling his usual, shit-eating grin. Immediately he pulled his right wrist up to his mouth, beginning to chew on the leather there; a habit he’d formed in the months since they were gifted.</p><p>Next to Matthew stood an impeccably dressed Declan, his eyes were soft and his mouth had a ghosted but uncertain smile. <em>What the fuck?</em> He looked skeptically into Dec’s eyes for a moment. Beside the Brothers Lynch were Gansey and Noah. Both wearing the same odd expression that Declan wore.</p><p> </p><p>“Gee doc, if I’d have known we were throwing an after hours party I’d have made a fucking playlist. Tell me, is this a <em>Cupid Shuffle</em> kind of gathering, or are you more partial to the <em>Electric Slide</em> in your withering age?”</p><p>Ronan deflected, it was what he did best… <em>well that, drugs, and art</em>, he thought. Matthew giggled, the whole crowd now surrounding him in a half circle. “Seriou-”</p><p> </p><p>“Ronan,” Gansey cut him off. He looked at his best friend and hummed. “Well, right… Declan?”</p><p> </p><p>Following this conversation had turned into a game of ping-pong.</p><p> </p><p>“Ronan, do you want to sit down?” Declan asked and his voice was soft. Like it had been in the hospital room that day, like it had been when he told him about Aurora. He drew his shoulders up to his ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Just fucking spit it out Declan.” Declan cleared his throat and looked to Dr. Allen briefly. “You don’t need his fucking permission. It’s simple, make words happen with that mouth you love to talk with. You remember words right? You’re oh so fucking great at using them so go on” he waved dramatically, he didn’t care if he sounded like a child.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Jesus Christ</em>. Alright. We found him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come again?”</p><p> </p><p>“We found him Ronan!” Matthew squealed.</p><p> </p><p>“Him. Him who? Any number of people go missing each year, I don’t see what that has to do wi-”</p><p> </p><p>“We <em>found him</em> Ronan.” It was Noah, voice soft and eyes smiling.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Oh…”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The room was quiet but for the sound of the other’s breathing. Ronan took a single step towards his bed and sank down. He looked at his socked feet, then at his hands. He snapped his head up to survey those in the room, then he remembered to breathe. He took a great shuttering breath and ran his hand down across the back of his neck, and looked directly at Noah. “Yo-you’re sure it was him Czerny?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m positive.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay… okay, okay o-”</p><p> </p><p>“Ronan?” He snapped he gaze to Declan.</p><p> </p><p>“Dec?” He hadn’t called him that since he was nine. The weight of that one word alone stilled his brother for the briefest moment.</p><p> </p><p>Declan spoke softly, “Do you need a minute or would you like to know what happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s his name?” Ronan’s eyes were still trained on his brother’s, solidarity in ice-blue.</p><p> </p><p>“Adam.” Gansey breathed, the way he said Adam sounded like he said <em>God</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>Adam</em>, Ronan thought the name; allowed it to sink into his soul. It was a nice name, a strong and intelligent name. <em>Adam, Adam, A-</em></p><p> </p><p>“Wait... What the fuck?”</p><p> </p><p>“There it is,” Matthew laughed.</p><p> </p><p>Gansey sat next to Ronan on his bed, “So, you see, the thing is…”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>There were only four pages left in this journal, which seemed oddly morose. Three months drawing his life, and he was left with only a few pages with which to tell the rest of his story. He wondered for a while what he’d use to fill them. His answer came to him with his first day of freedom…</p><p>His first steps out of the facility’s front doors were like breathing for the first time. Harsh November chill cutting through the holes in his jeans, and turning the leather of his favorite coat cold. He relished the bite, turning his ears and nose pink, and smiled shark-like as he spun on his heel to face his best friends. “Let’s get the fuck out of this place.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>They made their way to the parking lot, Ronan drinking in every color around him like a man starved, when he stopped short; tripping over his booted feet.</p><p> </p><p>“Ronan?” Gansey asked hesitantly.</p><p> </p><p>Ronan lifted a solitary finger and pointed at The Pig. “Gansey, the fuck is that?”</p><p> </p><p>“The Pig?” Noah drew the words out slowly, staring at Ronan in an equally skeptical way.</p><p> </p><p>“I can see that, what’s wrong with it?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong with it. I literally <em>just</em> got it back from the shop.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dick… the fucking thing is <em>Orange</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s- wait, <em>what?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“I said, that motherfucker is orange. I’m talking pumpkin-vomit, African-sunset, traffic-cone fucking ORANGE.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No…</em>” Ronan started to laugh, the freest laugh he’d let loose in an age. “I’m not fucking lying, it’s AWFUL.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>My God</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Ronan, with his sketchbook in hand, slid effortlessly into the passenger seat of The Pig when he’d finally gained his composure. It was a saturday, traffic around Arlington was decently shitty but he was grateful for his freedom. Noah slid in behind him and passed him his charged phone.</p><p>“The fuck am I supposed to do with this?”</p><p> </p><p>“There he is! Fuck have we missed you.” Noah laughed.</p><p> </p><p>“Color me surprised,” Gansey teased. “I let Declan know we’re out, and he told me to inform you that he’s having someone come collect your personal items.” Ronan grunted and opened his sketchbook against his knee, hand moving frantically across the page as he drew that first breath of free, sober air.</p><p>
  <em>Three pages left. </em>
</p><p>“I was thinking of heading to Nino’s, we could grab a coffee before we head back to Monmouth?”</p><p> </p><p>“Adam works there.” Ronan didn’t look away from his sketch and prayed his voice sounded steady.</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed…”</p><p> </p><p>“So, we’re not going to Nino’s. Christ Dick, I haven’t even had a proper shower.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you need a haircut, you’re starting to look like Declan again.” Noah ducked when Ronan swung a hand back to slap him.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you, asshole.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s his day off, but Blue is working-”</p><p> </p><p>“The best friend…”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, the ‘best friend.’ One of them anyways, but she’s also our friend, mine and Noah’s, and I’d like for you to meet her.”</p><p> </p><p>“Gans…” Ronan said.</p><p> </p><p>“Ronan.”</p><p> </p><p>“Noah!” Noah threw in for the fuck of it. Both Ronan and Gansey looked back at him for a moment, before Ronan snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“You swear he isn’t working today? I… I’m not, I mean. I don’t-”</p><p> </p><p>“We know” Noah spoke softly, “You don’t owe us an explanation. Just let us get some fucking coffee yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Ronan turned back to his work. “Yeah, coffee.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank God,” Gansey muttered and with a sputtering shift they were off towards Georgetown, towards Nino’s, towards home.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*****************</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Adam was late. He’d spent his Friday like he did nearly every evening leading up to finals: studying until the wee-hours of the morning. He’d offered to cover a shift at Nino’s today, extra cash before the holidays never hurt anyone and he had extra people to buy for this year. But, he’d snoozed through his alarm in an unprecedented move, and now he was paying for that precious extra 10 minutes.</p><p>Haphazardly throwing on a pair of tighter jeans, his converse, and a soft blue henley, Adam ran from his apartment to Nino’s. He’d somehow managed to run and put his jacket on at the same time, though he knew his hair was probably a mess. Today was a loss already, at least he’d remembered his bag and keys. <em>Get it together Adam</em>.</p><p>He ended up arriving 5 minutes late, throwing his bag in the break room and tying his apron around his hips, Adam snagged a cup of water and rushed towards the coffee bar. He could hear a deep voice, smooth and rolling, the kind that made your insides melt, ordering a drink. He took a deep pull from his water and rounded the corner, when the whole world seemed to go silent.</p><p>He looked up as he went to swallow and there, in all his dark and mysterious glory, was Ronan Lynch.</p><p> </p><p>Adam choked around the lip of the cup.</p><p> </p><p>Water, in the most undignified way, sprayed from his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Noah said, “NICE.”</p><p> </p><p>Blue said, “Oh, SHIT.”</p><p> </p><p>Ronan dropped a book that he was holding in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>Adam coughed, his face was <em>on fire</em>. This really couldn’t be happening right now. He shot a panicked look to Blue and bolted for the back door.</p><p>He’d made it to the bench in the alley when his embarrassment turned to panic. His breaths coming in too fast, his heart racing in his throat, which was strange because his stomach was also in his throat. And maybe in his shoes, and <em>holy fucking shit.</em> Ronan was here. Ronan was here, and alive, and his eyes were so blue. And Adam… Adam wasn’t ready.</p><p>Adam Parrish planned things. He had every paper mapped out in detail, his ten year plan was scheduled to the month, his life was order and premeditation. This, the second biggest moment of his 22 years to date, wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Gansey had promised he wouldn’t bring him here, not until they were both ready. This was Adam’s space, it didn’t matter if he wasn’t supposed to be working today. He-</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you Gansey! You PROMISED.” The yelling at the far end of the alley interrupted his panic. He knew that voice, though it sounded nearly as distraught as Adam felt.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know, I sw-”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t fucking believe this Dick. I <em>told you</em> I didn’t want to meet him.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh... </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Ronan, it wasn’t a trap. Please,” Noah begged. Ronan was backing away from them both. The book he’d dropped earlier held tightly against his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry Ronan, I hones-”</p><p> </p><p>“He wasn’t supposed to work today, he covered a shift.” Blue came running into the conversation, and the look Ronan shot at her interruption made anger boil beneath Adam’s skin.</p><p> </p><p>He began walking forward.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t fucking care. I’ll see you at home.” As Ronan turned to walk away he saw Adam, and for an endless moment in time the two stood frozen.</p><p> </p><p>Another Alley.</p><p> </p><p>Another impossible distance.</p><p> </p><p>...And then he was gone.</p><p> </p><p>“Ronan!” Gansey yelled at the retreating form of his best friend. “Damn it.”</p><p> </p><p>Gansey covered his face in his hands, shoulders hunched. He looked, for the first time since Adam had known him, impossibly small. Irrevocably human. Adam wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, wanted to take his friends inside where it was warm, and forget this train-wreck of a day had ever happened. He opened his mouth to say just that when, fate proved yet again that she was just getting started.</p><p>Adam, watched in slow motion as an unthinking Blue reached to pull Gansey’s bare hands from his face. The two both inhaled sharply, eyes scrunched shut for a moment. Adam knew what it was they were seeing, blinding white light. A flood of fate. He found himself holding his breath along with them.</p><p>All at once it ended, and they both opened their eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Jane?” Gansey croaked.</p><p> </p><p>Blue took a step back, shaking her head in disbelief, eyes tracking his every movement.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Blue…</em>” He tried again, hand subtly reaching toward her.</p><p> </p><p>“What. <em>The fuck</em>. Is that shirt Gansey?”</p><p> </p><p>“I well, uh… <em>what?</em>” His face was a study in confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“That color should be burned.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fucking Saturdays.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. No Gansey, Gansey YES.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello my beautiful favorite humans. I know it's been two months since my last update and for that I'm sorry. I have this fic entirely planned but I couldn't write. I mentioned in the notes at the beginning that I have personal experience with addiction from the outside, and this fic had reached a point where the next chapter I needed to write, as you will see here, involved fear and confusion, acceptance and just... a lot. I went to write it a million times and couldn't make words happen. It was like everything I tried to write wouldn't do the work I had put in so far justice. </p><p>And then, my person who I love who is battling addiction, relapsed. It took a lot out of me. I still don't think this is a worthy chapter, not looking for compliments or anything, it just didn't feel.. the same as the other have. That being said it's finished. My person has started to get help, the cycle has begun again, and the family is healing. I know it will all be okay, and this fic has really helped me in the past to battle my own demons when it comes to loving an addict.</p><p>I'm rambling. I hope everyone is safe and I love you all dearly. Please enjoy this chapter. It's the FINAL CHAPTER WHERE THEY AREN'T TOGETHER. Shit is picking up right after this, and I'm so excited for the end of this/ Adam's response. You'll see.</p><p>All my love,<br/>-Kenz</p><p>PS: TW for a lot of rage, angry language, and use of some name calling because like Adam is PISSSSSSSSSED for a bit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em><strong>VII</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ronan, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh, FUCK YOU. You “don’t want to meet me”? I’m so sorry to inconvenience you. You’re a real fucking asshole you know that? A MONUMENTAL asshole. Really, there should be fucking museums dedicated to what a fucking douche you are. You beautiful, cruel, emotional terrorist. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eat SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You don’t want to meet me. What in the literal fuck. I have sat here, seething for the better part of like, 12 hours and I can’t begin to put into words how fucked up that whole thing was. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I LITERALLY WENT TO WORK YOU SPITEFUL SHIT. My fucking bad for having the god damn AUDACITY to cover a shift. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Look, I get that me with the water and the running wasn’t exactly the greatest first impression. But really, you’re one to judge. I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment you fucking conceited little shit. You rude- ass, gay disaster. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Get the fuck out of here. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You know what? I sometimes wish I could say all this shit to you but really like, you don’t even deserve me yelling at you. I get it you clearly just got out of rehab and like weren’t expecting it, but you were fucking rude. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Who gave you the right to be so fucking… UGH. You don’t just get to look like you do, and act like a 12 foot tall, arrogant, man-baby. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You fucking haunt me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You fucking break me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I guess “soulmates” aren’t really iron-clad then. I get it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ll just go scream into the void for a little while, and just.. I don’t even know. This is such horse shit. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thanks for the ability to match my tie to my shirts I guess, asshole. Have a great life Mr. I dOnT wAnT tO sEe hIm. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fuck you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <strong>VIII</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ronan, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I haven’t slept in 48 hours. Because this degree wants to kill me. So we’re back again with this here lovely letter. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alright….. So.. That last letter was basically a tantrum, thank (your) God that you won’t ever know it existed. I’m not the best with my anger… obviously. You really should have seen me there, frantically writing and growling like a rabid dog. It was very charming. I assure you. I’m in no way embarrassed about it, even though I was the only person to see it happen. Well that and the cat across the street but he told me he’d keep it on the DL. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I mean honestly, I get it. I do. You weren’t expecting that meeting, I wasn’t either. It was a damn mess. I only hope you weren’t completely disappointed when you saw me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’d ask you but.. Well actually, no I wouldn’t. I hear you don’t lie and I really don’t need an honest opinion of how I look… from an artist no less. Nope. No thanks. If we ever actually meet and have a fucking conversation I really hope you keep that shit to yourself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jesus this letter is a joke, I have literally nothing to say. Nothing important anyways. I’m not even sure why I wrote an apology/ follow up letter to something that will never get sent. I’m honestly now realizing that I didn’t need to do this. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m slowly losing my mind. Finals have eaten my last brain cell. I think that if I just keep writing this will only devolve further. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Seriously, why am I still writing you these things? It’s ridiculous, you’re out now. If I have some shit to say I should be an adult and say it to your face. On second thought, talking to you about my “feelings” wouldn’t go so well right now I don’t think. You’re too pretty. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Like its enraging. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your jaw is like… an actual right angle. Do you cut yourself shaving? I feel like you probably do. And lets not even begin to discuss your stupid eyes and stupid mouth and all the other things that are distracting me from efficiently studying. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You, sir. Are a distraction. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s frankly rude. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Someone save me, I’m talking to myself and pretending it’s my soulmate. This is some small-dick energy right here. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I wish I had a latte. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>T- 3 days until winter break, may the odds be ever in my favor. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>(Time jump From November to January)</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Adam was two weeks into the new semester and, if he was being quite honest, already burnt out. The winter break had passed with long hours at Boyd’s, nearly empty shifts at Nino’s where he got a head start on reading, and spending time with Blue and Henry.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s it!” Henry exclaimed, unceremoniously dropping a rather large text book to the table with a thud and chugging the remainder of his latte. Adam looked up from his Policy text with a flat expression. “We need a weekend,” Henry drove his point home with a finger to the sky like he’d discovered electricity.</p><p> </p><p>Adam blinked slowly. “Dude, winter break was two weeks ago… How can you already ‘need a weekend’?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t feel it. This break didn’t count, you and Blue both had too much going on, it wasn’t a <em>real</em> break.”</p><p> </p><p>Adam continued to stare. Henry was right of course, this break had hardly felt real even in its monotony. A fact that could be deliberately attributed to another trio of friend’s and their knack for thoroughly decimating any peace Adam and his friend’s found with soulmates and drama and tall men with tattoos.</p><p> </p><p>“Breaks are supposed to be <em>fun</em>, or at the very least they’re supposed to give you a mental break from anything that requires more thought than cookies and Hallmark movies.”</p><p> </p><p>Adam scoffed at that, but gently placed his book on the table signaling for Henry to continue his rant.</p><p> </p><p>“So I pro- Hey Blue!” Henry looked up to frantically wave Blue from behind the counter mid-sentence. She approached slowly, eyeing Adam a question in her eyes which he answered with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>“... whats up?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was just telling Adam we need a real winter break. You two had so much to digest and I can see you both drowning right now.”</p><p> </p><p>Henry Cheng, always so astute. They were both drowning, they had had so many conversations about it, though not always involving Henry in the feelings-merry-go-round; it didn’t feel free to complain about soulmates in front of him. While he said it didn’t bother him that he wanted to help, Adam knew how hopeless he felt being the last one left of his friend group without a fated partner.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, you’re not wrong but…” Blue trailed off, like she was nearly too tired to finish the thought.</p><p> </p><p>“But nothing. We are leaving Friday.” Adam sputtered, “Leaving where?!” at the same moment Blue practically shrieked “Fuck yes!”</p><p> </p><p>“The lake house, I already called ahead to have the fridge stocked with our favorites. Adam I know for a fact you don’t work at all this weekend so don’t argue. Blue you can get off right? Good. Bring your books, whatever you need. I know we need to study, but you need a change of scenery. I will require you take off studying Saturday night however, as I have plans to get you both at least moderately drunk.”</p><p> </p><p>“That… That sounds nice actually, thank you Henry.” Adam gave him a small smile. It had taken years for him to accept anything from another person, but Henry was an exception, though his pride still smarted a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Wonderful!” Henry reached for his text book once again and Blue leaned down to lay a smacking kiss atop his head.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to get you both a refill,” she said with a smile. She hadn’t made it two steps when a thought occurred to Adam.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit. My plants, if we all go I don’t have anyone to water them.” Blue spun on her heel and caught Adam’s eye, before uncharacteristically shuffling her feet.</p><p> </p><p>“I.. well, I may have a solution. Gansey is home this weekend, and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help you out. He uh, he misses you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Have y’all been talking?” Shock coloring his voice in a Henrietta sunset.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhm, a little? I mean.. We talked on the phone over break a few times. I haven’t seen him, aside from his ‘casual coffee cravings.’”</p><p> </p><p>Adam’s smile felt brittle but genuine, “That’s great Blue, I’m so glad.”</p><p> </p><p>“As am I,” Henry echoed with a smile of his own that seemed equally frail to Adam. He hoped Blue didn’t notice their jealousy.</p><p> </p><p>“Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course you fucking idiot. We love you, of course we are happy for you. So my plants.. think he can keep them alive? His balcony is like a mint-plant graveyard.” Blue snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“Write him a schedule if it makes you feel better, but I’m positive.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, sweet. I’ll ask him.” Adam reached for his phone, and with a nod Blue went off to grab them more espresso.</p><p> </p><p><strong>AP (7:00):</strong> Hey Gans, I got a huge favor to ask..</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>Gans (7:01):</strong> Adam! I’m so glad to hear from you, of course I’d love to help. What can I do?</em>
</p><p> </p><p><strong>AP (7:02):</strong> you’re a lifesaver.</p><p><strong>AP (7:03):</strong> so, okay.. Well basically Henry is dragging Blue and I to the lake for a weekend at his family’s house there. I’ve uhm, well I need a break a ‘real one’ apparently winter break didn’t count with everything. So I was wondering if you could possibly water my plants?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>Gans (7:05):</strong> it would be my pleasure! Just let me know when to meet you to pick up your keys.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><strong>AP (7:05):</strong> would Friday around 2 work for you? I can meet you at mine and give you a run down? Also I hate to ask but.. When you water them, can it just be you please?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>Gans (7:07):</strong> of course </em>
</p><p> </p><p><strong>AP (7:07):</strong> Thank you Gans</p><p><strong>AP (8:12):</strong> Hey Gans…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>Gans (8:12):</strong> yeah? </em>
</p><p> </p><p><strong>AP (8:15):</strong> I wanted to tell you I’m sorry..</p><p><strong>AP (8:15):</strong> I know this month I’ve been a distant friend and with everything going on you’ve been trapped in an impossible situation. I’m sorry for my part in that, I’m trying. Really. I just.. That day at Nino’s, what he said. I’m struggling and I apologize for how my struggling has affected you.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>Gans (8:20):</strong> Don’t apologize to me Adam, there is no need. I know how hard this has been, and I’m frankly grateful you didn’t just drop this friendship after what he said that day. He didn’t mean it, you know. He.. It wasn’t handled well, and I’m not going to act as though it was. But he regrets it, that much is clear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em><strong>Gans (8:21):</strong> But that’s beside the point. Adam our relationship is ours alone, it is unaffected by my relationship with him as much as I can help that. While I have missed you, I assure you that you’re not the only one of us who has spent this “break” absolutely overwhelmed. I don’t fault you whatsoever. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><strong>AP (8:23):</strong> Thank you, truly. Thanks.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em><strong>Gans (8:23):</strong> Of course. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***********************</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Richard Campbell Gansey III was raised better. He knew he was. He, until this moment, had gone out of his way to respect his friend’s privacy to the best of his ability (unless of course their safety was concerned). His trustworthiness was a foundational piece of his personality, tried and true.</p><p>Gansey stood with the water can held at a dangerous angle above a succulent potted and placed on Adam’s window sill, just above his desk. He was frozen in place, the water a minuscule dribble, his eyes locked on a stack of envelopes between the plant and the window frame.</p><p>The front-most envelope had a number on it, and it was just too curious. With a furtive glance over his shoulder, as if to check that Adam wasn’t watching his moral fiber disintegrate, he gently placed the watering can down on the desk.</p><p>He grabbed the stack of envelopes and spread them out across the desk. There were 8 in total, each boasting a small number in Adam’s neat handwriting across the front. Not one of the envelopes was sealed. With a second glance over his shoulder, Gansey grabbed a letter at random, looking down at it. He held it for an eternity, fiddling with the open flap on the back, the paper inside <em>begging</em> to be read.</p><p>
  <em>If Adam was writing secret letters to someone, Ronan needed to know. Right?</em>
</p><p>It was with that thought, that Richard Campbell Gansey III slid the letter from the envelope marked <strong>V</strong> and carefully unfolded the letter inside.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“<strong>V</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ronan, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You’re alive…” </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Oh… Shit.” he whispered, the letter shaking in his hands. These letters, were they all for Ronan? He knew he shouldn’t, and yet he already had. Ronan’s influence clearly had rubbed off on him, he was breaking every rule of human decency. With another look through the window to make sure Ronan was still downstairs he pulled open the sixth letter and read only the name: Ronan.</p><p>He slid the letters back into the appropriate envelopes, he had seen enough to know they were for Ronan, he didn’t need to read them. Though, if he was being honest with himself he would love too. Clearly these were private. Just as that thought struck, time came to a stop.</p><p>Ronan, he knew, was barely holding on when it came to Adam. The fear he so valiantly tried to hide, fear of rejection, typical self-sabotage was obvious. These letters, whatever they contained could help him understand Adam was interested. Right? He deserved to know that his soulmate was there, wanting communication, that was clear. He had written him 8 letters after all, and every letter, with the exception of V was thick, presumably holding numerous pages filled to the brim with… <em>something</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>Gansey, No.</em> He told himself even as he stacked the letters.</p><p> </p><p><em>Gansey, No.</em> He told himself as he slid the letters into his coat pocket.</p><p> </p><p><em>Gansey, No.</em> He told himself as he Slid 8 new envelopes into the space left glaringly blank by their predecessors. It wasn’t full proof by any means, but he hoped the good that came from them would make this point moot.</p><p> </p><p><em>Gansey, No.</em> He told himself as he finished watering the plants and left Adam’s apartment. Locking the door and making his way to the car where Ronan sat impatiently in the passenger seat of the Pig, listlessly chewing on his bracelets.</p><p>The letters burned. He felt Adam’s wrath even from a distance, and yet he couldn’t change course. Sure, he could say he left his phone and go un-do what he had just done, but as he slid in the driver’s seat that option faded away. Ronan was looking up to the window of Adam’s apartment with haunted eyes. His knee was bouncing and his breathing had all but stopped. <em>Had he been this way the entire time I was upstairs?</em></p><p>Ronan needed these letters, more than Gansey needed a clean conscience. He cleared his throat and turned the key in the ignition, the Pig rumbling to life below him and the first notes of <em>Stubborn Love</em> played through the speakers.</p><p> </p><p>“The fuck took you so long?” Ronan’s fear translating predictably to anger.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry. I uhm..”</p><p> </p><p>“Just spit it out Gans, or drive. I’m starving and I don’t want to be here anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>Gansey loosed a slow breath and, with shaking hands, slowly pulled the stack from his pocket. Eyes front, he handed the letters to his right. “I found something.”</p><p> </p><p>“Gans… What are these?” Ronan’s voice had gone soft, his own hands shaking as he held the stack in front of him like it was simultaneously a precious gem and a poisonous snake.</p><p> </p><p>“They, well..” He cleared his throat a second time, “They seem to be letters. Addressed to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Addressed to me?” Ronan’s face was incredulous at best.</p><p> </p><p>“They only have numbers on them, how do you know they’re for me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I may have opened one and saw your name?” Gansey laughed humorlessly.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t read them right?” Ronan’s voice raised once more, filled with righteous indignation.</p><p> </p><p>“No, well. The 5th one. I didn’t read any more, and that one’s short. And… <em>F</em><em>uck</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“We need to put these back Dick, he’ll know.” Ronan frantically tried to organize the pile of scattered envelopes littering his thighs and push them towards Gansey. “I can’t believe you stole from him. <em>Christ</em>, what the fuck were you thinking!?”</p><p> </p><p>“I… I replaced the envelopes, he won’t notice right away. You could read them and we can put them back. Or we can do that now. But don’t you want to know? Ronan you deserve to know what he has to say. You deserve happiness. Maybe this is how you get there.”</p><p> </p><p>“I- I can’t make that choice. I.. I can’t be selfish with him, but I..” Ronan fiddled with the open flap on the first letter. Pain and hope, confusion and anger and fear fighting for dominance on his face. When he spoke again his voice was no more than a whisper. “I can’t make the choice, Gans.”</p><p> </p><p>He looked to Gansey then, a silent plea swimming in his arctic eyes. With a small nod Gansey spoke just as softly, “You don’t have too.”</p><p> </p><p>And he pulled the Pig from the curb, and began the short drive home.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>******************************************</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ronan stared for hours at the letters spread across his bed, the fear, the hope, all of it drowning him.</p><p>The sun had long since fallen from the sky and his room was illuminated only by the Strings of Edison bulbs dangling in a zigzag pattern across his ceiling.</p><p> </p><p>“Get it together Lynch,” he growled.</p><p> </p><p>With shaking hands he grabbed the first letter. He sliced his finger on the flap and hissed as a drop of blood, red as the eyes of his nightmares, slid slowly down the envelope. He watched with a kind of morbid fascination as it soaked into the envelop, forever marring the pristine white surface.  </p><p>Another deep breath and he was sliding the stack of papers out from its prison. His eyes found the first words in a neat scrawl he didn’t know, but prayed one day he would recognize with the same familiarity he did his own.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“<strong>i.</strong> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I never knew your name. You left before I ever had the chance to ask. I wish more than anything that I knew your name, at least then I’d be able to grieve a person instead of a stranger in an alley. You were… Exquisite. Even floating in a pool of your own life, you were beautiful. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You were. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Past tense. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gone.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh...Fuck.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He felt his heart shatter and he read on, tears tracking silently down his face.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Truth of Us</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Art pieces described in this chapter Correlate to songs, which I've linked in the actual fic!</p><p>TW: Panic attack (mild) and references to death, Robert Parrish being fucking garbage, drugs, and Ronan's sad past. you know so like-- be careful. there shouldn't be anything to detailed but I just wanted to mention them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm not going to sit here and pretend like I didn't up and abandon this for an embarrassing amount of time. Yes life got in the way, and that's true for all of us in 2020 I think. I can't really find words to describe, let alone process all that has happened since I last wrote for a fic. </p><p>But, the muse is back...somewhat. And so I humbly offer y'all this garbage. It's not beta'd and to be honest I haven't even re-read it. I just needed to get it out there I think, just get something published to remember why it is I started this fic/ writing in the first place. So sorry not sorry about all the fucking typos lolol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Alright?” Henry asked somewhere off to Adam’s left. Adam just nods, knowing full well this isn’t the most convincing of gestures, but luckily Henry doesn’t push. They’re standing at the crosswalk, one block away from what will, most assuredly prove to be an <em>uncomfortable</em> evening.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sure. <em>Okay</em>, Adam.” Blue bumps her shoulder against his arm, and looks at him with a fondly exasperated face. “Take a deep breath, you were invited tonight remember? And I promise you can leave at any time. If it gets too weird or, heavy or whatever. We leave.”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly, and if it goes really bad I can have you out of the country in 4 hours,” Henry promises. They’re right, he knows. He was invited, albeit through Gansey- as if Ronan couldn’t even stand to talk to him long enough to even ask. It’s ridiculous really, he doesn’t like being somewhere on someone else’s turf so to speak. Although, when he thinks back to the disastrous meeting in the alley he can’t help but think that apparently this was destined to be fucked regardless.</p><p>The light changes, the blinking white man in the black box ushering them across the busy intersection. Adam shoves his hands in his pockets and does his best not to fidget. <em>It’s an art show, you’re going to pretend you care for a minimum of thirty minutes and then you can go back to the library</em>. With a deep breath he rounds the corner and stops just outside the Cabeswater Gallery. He fights the urge to brush his hair back from his forehead, and looks to Blue one last time. She leans up to kiss his cheek and steps forward to enter through the door Henry is holding for them, all smiles and anxious cheer.</p><p>The gallery is filled with college age students, hipsters, and the filthy rich alike. Exposed duct-work and soft lighting create a space that’s both charming and simple, allowing all the focus to fall on the art placed throughout the space. The show itself is the Georgetown Winter Showcase, and apparently Ronan’s last major graded project before graduation. Adam’s eyes track over the crowd looking for that shaved head, exhaling a shaky breath when he realizes that he can’t find him. <em>I have time,</em> he thinks. He won’t be the one approaching first, he doesn’t know how to put himself out any further- everything is so convoluted and he’s spent nearly two months making peace with the death of his deepest held dreams of love.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to look for Gansey, and Henry went to grab us wine. Are you okay by yourself for a bit?” Blue asks, head on a swivel as she attempts a nonchalant search for her soulmate.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I’ll just..” Adam nods his head towards the art with a shrug. “Wander.” He fights to drag a smile from the depths of self, but can’t quite manage. The resulting grimace has Blue biting her lip and furrowing her brow.</p><p> </p><p>“Adam, I c-”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no no go. Seriously. It has to happen sometime right? I’ll text you if I need you. And just, thanks. For uh, making me come tonight. I think I might have needed this.” With a surprisingly agile spin on his heel, Adam heads for the back of the gallery deciding to start there and work his way towards the door, towards freedom.</p><p>The din of the crowd and soft music lull him into a sort of uncomfortable calm. He walks by rows of art in greys and blacks, shade and light playing with themes far over his head. He tries his best to read the descriptions to attempt understanding, but it all seems so… messy. The greys give him a melancholy sort of feeling, knowing the reason they’ve been used is most likely due to the artist in question not yet, perhaps not ever, having access to the rainbow of color he drowns in each day. He takes measured steps toward the crowd surrounding a series of seven paintings along a long wall.</p><p>Each of the seven canvases are hanging above what looks to be a set of headphones, the line to wait for a turn to start is a few deep. The idea here, so unlike anything else at the gallery, he finds himself waiting in line. It’s not until his turn comes for the first that he realizes… <em>Ronan</em>.</p><p>With numb fingers he places the headphones on his head and stares at the painting above him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wy_XQH9Jtuk&amp;t=181s">
    <strong>The Fall </strong>
  </a>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Here stands a man with a bullet in his clenched right hand</em>
</p><p>
  <em> But don’t push him, son, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>For he’s got the power to crush this land </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh hear, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hear him cry, Boy” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The heartbreaking song sinks deep into Adam’s bones as he stares at the destructive red’s and grey’s. He feels like he will shake right out of his skin as he works his way through the series. And so it goes…</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TA4-teCZ9kI"><strong>Chase the Void</strong> </a>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“It’s stop we stop, children What’s that sound? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Everybody look what’s going down </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stop, children what’s that sound? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stop, children what’s that sound?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Anger. Darkness. Contrast. Headlights.</p><p>Adam’s eyes water.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrMZOy6s0tU">
    <strong>Reprieve </strong>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m just a liar who got lucky </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I ain’t no different from the rest </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I might be jaded and delusional </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But at least I found a Home inside my head” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Soft colors. A garden. Tall grass. Blonde curls.</p><p>Adam stops his fingers a hairsbreadth from the chunky paint on the canvas, fingers itching to feel the texture beneath the calloused pads of his fingers. A sense of peace.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DjCoV2yhVU">
    <strong>Oblivion </strong>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shoot me down bang-bang </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hey shady baby, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m hot Like the prodigal son” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The hood of a car, in grey. A green pill in the center. Adam’s breath catches as he begins to see the story, Ronan’s story. All of it seemingly laid bare for mass consumption. He steps away from the painting and forces himself to the next, he needs to see.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLBcBes73Lc">
    <strong>What Waits in the Dark </strong>
  </a>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You’re like the calmest </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Slit to my neck </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bring me in closer </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Spruce up my soul </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Then you fill it with coal </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Then you douse it in lava” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A cheshire cat’s smile. Tattoos and endless skin. A fire in a trash can. A smashed headlight. Pants around ankles and a sea of white powder.</p><p>Adam’s right hand slips to his lips as his eyes begin to water, frozen here in this. The Destruction of the man he’s come to love through ideas. The systematic dismantling of a psyche.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I am the driver </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am the shadow </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Am the hearse” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The tears spill over. He knows what happens next. His heart is trying to break through his ribs and he left his breath with <em>Oblivion. </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSWf8KggnII">
    <strong>Obscurity</strong>
  </a>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“‘Cause the bad’s been </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Slowly gettin’ worse </em>
</p><p>
  <em>In this fast lane, Livin’, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s a curse </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Better tell me, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>What’s your life worth? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I think it’s time for a change </em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Cause the drugs don’t work </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anymore, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anymore, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anymore.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The alley. The angle is wrong, the stars hang above the roof of the building. A blonde head just off frame. Shadows.</p><p>Adam drops rips the headphones from his head, turning to run from the last painting. He doesn’t want to know, he can-</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>******************************</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ronan watches him move through the series, chewing on the leather covering his right wrist. He sees the way he reaches for the Barns, the way he tilts his head and drinks in Kavinsky and the pills. He sees the way he starts to shake as he moves from pants around ankles to an Alley. The breath caught in his throat, a guilt breaking him inside, though he keeps his face impassive.</p><p>Adam hasn’t seen him yet, and so he gets to watch as the man he knows he could love- the one who is much more than he deserves- as his beautiful blue eyes, filled to the brim with silver, spill over. Tears tracking silently down to where he holds his hands to his mouth, beautiful hands…</p><p>Ronan’s heart stops as Adam rips the headphones from his ears and turns, as if to run again. <em>Please, God. Let him finish this</em>, he thinks. He needs Adam to be able to take it, to see it through to the end. To see the worst parts of his life like this, he feels the flicker of hope dying in his chest and he pleads to his silent god.</p><p>Adam slowly turns back, glassy eyes catching on <em>Obscurity</em> once more before he steps up to the final canvas. The breath leaves Ronan’s lungs like a tidal wave, and he smiles slightly to himself as he reaches down to grab the book at his feet.</p><p>I can do this.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>********************************</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZK0UL5r3FU">
    <strong>Movement </strong>
  </a>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You’ve got time, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re on the mend babe </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And everybody wants the same, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Everybody wants the same thing” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s the only piece fully in color. It’s family. It’s a black notebook and a beat up novel. It’s a handwritten note and a godawful orange car, smoking engine and all. It’s two blondes and two brunettes. It's Healing.</p><p>Adam feels the breath return to him and finds his calm once again in the midst of the work in front of him. He wants so badly to be embarrassed that he allowed tears to fall in public, and yet he can’t quite muster it. He feels almost like he understands now, or is.. Starting too, at least. He smiles slightly to himself knowing that, even if Ronan doesn’t want him like he wanted Ronan, at least they may be able to find some sense of balance together.</p><p>With a final breath he puts the headphones back onto the hook and steps back, straight into a solid body, with an “oof, I’m so-”</p><p> </p><p>“That, uh.. No don’t, I uh. Was a little close, or whatever. Tha- I’m sorry. Uhm...Hi.” Ronan stutters, hands gripping the black leather sketchbook in his arms like a lifeline. His dark brows drawn slightly together, eyes piercing right through Adam.</p><p> </p><p>It takes him a minute, a year, to finally remember what exactly words are; lost as he is in the man before him. He whispers, “Hi.”</p><p> </p><p>The silence drags and Ronan scuffs one black boot, against the ground as he shifts the book to one hand, extending the other. Politely awkward, Adam can’t help his snort. He slides his hand into Ronan’s and neither of them seem to remember how to shake, simply standing there eyes locked onto each other, hands warm and cold respectively joined in the narrow space between their bodies.</p><p>The first touch, gave him a rainbow, and a river of red. The second brings a small smile to his lips as he, reluctantly lets go. “Your work, Ronan it’-”</p><p> </p><p>“I got your letters,” Ronan says at nearly the same moment.</p><p> </p><p>The world stops.</p><p> </p><p>Adam shakes his head and takes a step back, <em>oh god, no. How the fu-</em> His eyes narrow as he turns to look for Gansey and spots him and Blue headed toward them.</p><p> </p><p>“Those weren’t for you to read Lynch.” He feels the anger clawing in his gut, familiar and comforting in a way he shudders to consider. Never had he been proud of his temper, it was too much like <em>him</em>, like everything Adam had fought to escape. And yet, here it was, threatening to boil over. Before he can open his mouth again he moves, desperate to get out, to get away from the blue eyes, and the betrayal of friends and the knowledge that his innermost self had been, without his permission, taken and studied.</p><p> </p><p>Adam shoves his way through the crowd, a flurry of “excuse me”s and “I’m sorry”s following him until he can push through the glass doors and out onto the sidewalk. He can’t go back there, this was worse than he could have imagined going in, and he’d thought he’d considered every possibility. Ronan hating him, Adam triping and breaking a precious art piece, having to talk about art and having Ronan realize he was out of his depth, every good and bad possibility; this wasn’t one of them. His feet hit the pavement as he runs toward the metro station, tears and shame burning his throat, taking turns and dodging pedestrians.</p><p>As he rounds the final turn, a staircase away from freedom a firm hand grabs his arm and pulls him to a stop; and suddenly Adam’s 6 again. He’d been so excited to play with the neighbor two trailers over that he’d run out of the door, and knocked his dad’s beer over. Robert’s hand yanking him back. He’s 11 and he didn’t respond with “yes sir” fast enough and he’s being dragged back out of the kitchen. He’s 17 and his dad is dragging him back for one more hit. The world tilts on its access, and panic drowns his system. He didn’t hear, he didn’t hear him and now he’s going to die, Robert’s found him and-</p><p>And Adam flinches, hard. Hands automatically going to cover his head, making his body as small as possible. The hand immediately pulls away and he can hear his name he thinks, through a fog. Slowly, so incredibly slowly, he pulls his arms from his face and sees Ronan. He’s standing now a good four feet away, with a pained expression on his face. His head shaking slowly and hands held aloft, one still with the black book, in a manor meant to calm Adam, he thinks. He’s breathing hard, his gaze hard and unwavering. For a time they stare at each other, Adam painfully aware of how this looks and Ronan seemingly both guilty and angry, for what? He doesn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>Ronan finally speaks, “I called your name. I-”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t hear it.” Adam replies, blunt. Unforgiving.</p><p> </p><p>“I realize that now, I.. <em>Adam</em>,” and the way he says Adam’s name is like a prayer. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have grab-”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t.” He barks, the softly. “Don’t apologize. Not for this.” Ronan lowers his hands slowly, and hesitates before closing the distance between them.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he breathes. Adam nods, he doesn’t know how this day could have gone much worse, actively willing it to just fucking end. How is it that his soulmate has been the cause of some of his worst days? Aren’t they supposed to bring you balance and peace?</p><p> </p><p>“What do you need, Ronan?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, <em>fuck</em>. Okay, you didn’t let me finish at the gallery. I uh, so.. Okay, I’m not great with words and shit, obviously. So, here” he thrusts the black book at Adam, who is watching the blush that formed high on those cheekbones flood down to his neck. “You don’t have say anything just take this, and I.. I’m sorry.” Adam grabs the leather book, and looks down at the cover, a raven in flight embossed with a detail so rich he can only imagine the price. Adam spends so long admiring the raven that when he looks back up - a question on his lips- he is surprised to find the space empty.</p><p> </p><p>Ronan is gone.</p><p> </p><p>Again.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck?” Adam asks no one.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Thirty minutes later Adam finds himself at his desk, he’d traced the raven across the cover hundreds of times during his short metro trip home; not daring to open it in public for fear of what he would find. He turned off his phone after shooting a quick text to the group that let them know he was safe, and that he’d talk to them tomorrow. Then shut off the phone entirely, there was just too much to unpack tonight. Gansey, Blue and Gansey, Ronan, the flashbacks, the fear, the… everything.</p><p>The coffee pot drips in the kitchen, he knows there is no way he can sleep after all that was his day. So he waits, the rhythmic splashing of coffee keeping time. Forty minutes since he was handed the book, and he’s still staring at it like it may bite him if he opens it. <em>Just get it together, get it the fuck together.</em></p><p>The coffee pot beeps, and Adam’s thankful for the distraction. Though he finds himself back in front of the book, pacing with mug in hand five minutes later. “Fuck!” is hand scrubs through his hair and he flings the char around. “Fine okay? I’ll open the damn thing.” <em>I’m losing my mind. Ronan Lynch has driven me insane.</em></p><p>With careful hands he unwinds the cable tie holding the book closed, and opens the cover. There inside he sees a second embossing “R.N.L.” below the word “Excelsior”. <em>Onward and upward,</em> he thinks and his eyes move to the first page. Placed on top of what is clearly a sketch, is a stray piece of paper with a handwritten note. The writing is choppy, disorganized and yet careful.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Adam, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I realized pretty quickly I wasn’t ever supposed to see those letters. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I’m an asshole, so I read them anyways. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m not sorry I did, even if you hate me for it. I’ve always been shit with words, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>So consider this my version of your letters. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>-Ronan. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>With a deep breath he moves the note carefully to the side, and stares at the first page. It’s a soft portrait, done in charcoal of a woman, long blonde hair that seems, even in this monochrome, to shine with the light coming through a large-paned window. Her smile brings with it a warmth Adam had never known, hand stretched towards the viewer, bringing you into her world. He can see the enigmatic kindness in her face, the weathered room around her, slightly out of focus. As he studies further, he can see cows grazing a field outside the window, and an abandoned cup of tea on the sill. The portrait feels like home in a way he can’t fathom, she’s beautiful. In the bottom right corner there is a small inscription that reads, “My first memory: Mom.”</p><p>With delicate fingers he turns the page, and for a moment he has to pause. The man in the sketch is leaning over the open hood of a sleek BMW. Left hand on the body and right arm bent at the elbow, leaned against the hood. His head is turned toward to the side, dark- wild curls create a haphazard halo around a face so eerily similar to that of Ronan’s, that for a moment Adam finds himself wondering what his soulmate would look like if he stopped buzzing his head. The man wears a smirk, playful and alluring, attractive in a way that even in charcoal Adam’s sure he knew it. There’s a smudge of grease along his right cheekbone and a dirty rag hung from his back pocket. The detail put, not only into the drawing of the dirty man, but the interior of the car, makes Adam believe he can smell it. “Dad.” One word in the corner, the strokes of each letter nearly hesitant. He runs a finger over the man’s face, noting the sadness evident even in such a happy memory. <em>How foreign</em>, he thinks, <em>to love one’s father without fear</em>.</p><p>The rest of Ronan’s life comes together through images, some pages with lyrics of songs running in the background or disguised as book titles. He watches the wild boys, the Brother’s Lynch grow in a world dominated by love. He sees tennis tournaments and vacations, Gansey and Noah, and so many animals. It’s a fairytale life, compared to Adam’s own upbringing- at least at the beginning. Halfway through the book, Ronan’s life, he has to stop.</p><p>It’s there, laid bare for Adam’s scrutiny… The death of a king. His first thought make him sick, how similar Niall Lynch looked to Ronan in death. Slightly weathered around the eyes, stubble prominent, the detail of this moment is heartbreaking; photo-real. He stares unblinking as the tears begin to fall, the first landing just to the left of the man on the ground. With a shove he pushes the book away. The page is to real, the blood even in shades of grey to similar. He can hear the sirens, the screams. He can hear Ronan, though he sounds like Noah, begging for help. Pleading with God for more time.</p><p>It takes him an hour to find his way back to the book, having decided instead to take a shower and pace around his apartment in a fog. The anger he’d felt earlier in the evening at having his letters and innermost thoughts laid bare falling aside as he process the gift he’d been given. This book, the glimpse into the mind of the man behind the blue eyes, seems far more raw than the words he’d written to a ghost. He turns the pages and finds the smiling man, the drugs, the life lived in shadow. He sees Gansey’s disappointment, the brother’s fear, and most heartbreaking- the slow deterioration of the woman made of sunshine. How anyone could survive the pain Ronan had, Adam struggled to understand. The night in the alley, though an act of a lost and broken boy, made so much more sense to him now. There’s truly nothing he wouldn’t have given to have prevented any of this.</p><p>With a heavy heart, Adam turns to the final page, unsure of what to expect. What final memory, what story would Ronan tell, here at the end of his first book of life? He has so many stories to tell, and so many more to create. Would it be one of hope? Of despair? He’s surprised to find the page empty, but for a single sentence in neat script- far more so than Ronan’s true handwriting. They’re written in black ink, the only permanent feeling medium in the entire book.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Three words.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The <em>whole world</em> in three words.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tamquam Alter Idem.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THIS WAS THE LAST ANGST CHAPTER I PROMISE!! Up next: first dates, soft boys, and awkwardness 😂</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Shoutout to LiterallyLen for betaing this/ listening to all my plans/ helping me figure out romantic plot points and for being a badass. ILY boooooo &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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